


Drawn In By Short Gasps

by AliensInPleasure



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Age Difference, Dom Tony Stark, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, Good BDSM Etiquette, Good Boy Kink, Humor, M/M, Romance, Safewords, Sensory Overload, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Sub Peter Parker, Subspace, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, authority kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 48,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26678683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliensInPleasure/pseuds/AliensInPleasure
Summary: "So. This is awkward. And I have two questions for you, kid. Why does it seem like you do this," he gestures between himself and Peter, "on purpose? And where's my drink? Oh, actually I have a lot more questions, like, what the fuck are you doing here – in the middle of the night – and why are you wearing this abominable black thing SHIELD knitted together? Don't be shy, and please start with the whiskey."Peter starts processing everything for two seconds before he surrenders, hurrying to the still very injured Tony to hand him his drink. He takes it without hesitation."M' not a kid," Peter then says, because that is the only response he can currently think of.It is also very likely the only important response he can give Tony.***A slow burn Dom/Sub fic with powers in which 21-year-old Peter learns that his year-long crush on Mr. Stark isn’t without hope. Also, one time Tony wears a kitten t-shirt for aftercare.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 105
Kudos: 333





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I always wanted to read nicer and (kinda) realistic sub/dom stories, and wouldn't that fit perfectly with Tony and Peter? So I decided to write something myself, including spider GIFs, kitten t-shirts, and a lot of teenage angst. Peter is pretty young in this one (21 years old) and that will show, he won't react like a full-grown adult. Also, please look up the tags: There are a lot of kinks even though not all will be explicitly sexual.
> 
> I already wrote a majority of the story (70k words) and I'll try to post every Sunday from now on. Thank you [DefendersofMCUniverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekMom13/pseuds/DefendersofMCUniverse) for beta reading the first two chapters! ♡
> 
> Have fun!
> 
> EDIT: I edited the prologue since I wasn't overly happy with it. I've been writing this story for some time now and since I'm not a native English speaker I learned a lot about English writing while practicing it. Also, the story evolved in a different direction than expected, and the new prologue will make more sense. However, contentwise the same things happen, I just chose to describe it more directly.

* * *

_Hysteria by T.S. Elliot_

As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved in her laughter and being part of it, until her teeth were only accidental stars with a talent for squad-drill. I was drawn in by short gasps, inhaled at each momentary recovery, lost finally in the dark caverns of her throat, bruised by the ripple of unseen muscles. An elderly waiter with trembling hands was hurriedly spreading a pink and white checked cloth over the rusty green iron table, saying: "If the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden, if the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden..." I decided that if the shaking of her breasts could be stopped, some of the fragments of the afternoon might be collected, and I concentrated my attention with careful subtlety to this end.

[ Look the poem up here. ](https://poets.org/poem/hysteria)

* * *

**Prologue**

**  
**_Some day in the workshop._

"Here you go, Sir."

Tony smiles,  "Good boy."

What a surreal moment, Peter decides. The scraping sound of DUM-E’s small foot-wheels swirls through the workshop, uncertain movements, back and forth, back and forth. It’s as if the robot had known what happened, but how could he? Peter’s not even sure anything happened at all.

Mr. Stark, however, seems disturbed. He clears his throat after what felt like an eternity.

"One question. Is that actual milk in my coffee?"

Peter opens his mouth a bit, but his brain stopped the moment Mr. Stark called him a Good Boy after he put down the mug of coffee on his workstation beside him. Back and forth. Back and forth.

"Eh, what?"

Peter may be shy and naïve, and he may not always find the right words when someone asks him a question, but he’s good at reading people and he wonders if the slight jerk showing on Mr. Stark’s face might be a sign of fear. 

If so, he wouldn’t be alone.

"Look, it’s been a really long day, like Ambiancé long, and I wouldn’t want you to doze off during your algebra thing tomorrow—so. Let’s call it a night." Mr. Stark sits up and doesn’t look at Peter, whose face feels burning hot since those two words hit him; no one ever called him that before.

Good boy.

"Uh, yeah. Right." Did Mr. Stark always know that much about his university courses? How didn’t he notice?

Peter wants to pack his stuff, say goodbye to Mr. Stark, and act as if nothing had happened at all, as if he hadn’t called him _Sir_ , which he is doing for years now, and as if Mr. Stark hadn’t answered with _Good Boy_ , which he never did before.

Peter wants to act as if it hadn’t been a big deal, as if he hadn’t even noticed the slightly bizarre choice of words. He did, though. He’s a 21-year-old millennial who’s been in love with an eccentric billionaire for six years now and yes, he thought he’d be over it, but now he isn’t anymore, now there’s an awkward silence and a frisson is crawling over his body and he wants to hear it again, the Good Boy, he wants to do things he can’t find the words for nor the actions that would lead to them and once Mr. Stark looks back at him from the elevator door with that inscrutable gaze of his he knows all of that shows on his face like a goddamn open book.

He’s fucked.


	2. A Good Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is a good boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment if you like it (or not), it means a lot to me. ♡

_Two days after some day in the workshop. (Or Saturday evening.)_

Ned isn’t helping at all.

Of course he isn’t, because Ned Wan Kenobi – which is his official / unofficial superhero name only Peter knows because superhero secrets – is starstruck ever since Peter got the internship at Stark Industries. Which has never been an internship but another superhero secret Peter accidently revealed by being a spider thingy hanging around, again.

"Do you think he would like to, you know, have sex with you and everything?" Ned asks while placing a LEGO brick at Major Vonreg's half-built LEGO TIE Fighter, and yes: They are both very manly men over twenty who love to play LEGO every saturday. "I mean now he’s like forty-five-ish but it still would be cool because it’s Tony Stark. He was together with Pepper Potts, it would be as –"

That is the moment Ned raises his head, looking directly at Peter.

"It would be as if you would have sex with Mrs. Potts, Peter. It would be as if you would have sex with Mr. Stark and Mrs. Potts at the same time and-"

Oh gawd.

"Ned, please no, that’s – that’s not what it would be like. Also I don’t want to have se- you know, THAT with Mr. Stark or Mrs. Potts. Wow, I can’t – and having sex with one person wouldn’t be like having sex with all the people this particular person slept with, what the fuck? That is-"

"Sex-ception."

"…absurd. Did you just say Sex-ception?"

"You know that ‘What the fuck’ is the perfect response, right? But sorry, man. I just – it does weird things to me when you tell me Tony freaking Stark probably wants you to be his sex thing. After six years."

Peter goes red planet again and wishes he would’ve never ever asked Ned if calling someone _Sir_ could really be a sex thing, and if it was okay he did that with Tony Stark. For an entirety of several years. Uhm. (He didn’t talk about the _good boy_ , okay.)

"I didn’t- I didn’t tell you that _,_ " he says weakly.

"Do you really still want to be his sex thing?" Ned asks then, like it’s as unbelievable as the Ghost Busters being real or Disney declaring Mufasa actually being alive after all these years of mourning.

"I mean ... for real?"

Would "Yes please, Sir." be an inappropriate answer?

***

It’s a stormy day. The streets smell like rain and dirt and fumes, and Peter just got home from patrol. Wet but warm, with blushing cheeks as soon as the heat of his flat embraces him. He clicks the chilly metal spider on his chest after saying goodbye to Karen and his Spider suit falls from his skin, light like silk.

It’s fascinating, the suit. The fabric.

In all the right ways, in all the wrong ways.

Of course, Peter knows what it’s made of. He knew at the very moment he first saw the suit, put it on and felt it on his body. Lavishly tender, it spanned around him like a second skin. It grazed him everywhere and he felt it 3000, young and unspoiled as he was. Tony Stark has always been the first man who ever touched him, unknowingly, unwillingly. Through a layer of protection.

He remembers the smell. The scent is different now, more like him, more like home. When he got the suit though, it smelled new and foreign, a little bit like plastic, a little bit like machine oil and _something, something, something._

After the smell, there was a thought. It told the story of Mr. Stark assembling the suit, placing every part of it together, filling it up with his ideas, working on it for what could’ve been several days and nights without a lot of sleep. Young Peter imagined him working on the thing with his hands, and what a funny thing to think about. His hands, that is.

And as well as Peter felt those hands through his very own layer of secret thoughts, there are layers and layers of Tony Stark, some discovered and some still hiding from curious eyes.

A layer of all-nighters. A layer sprinkled with huge amounts of coffee, huge amounts of drinks. They tell him that Mr. Stark might rather work himself into oblivion than to think too much about the people who died by the tech he invented. Or the people who hate him, or the loved ones he lost or thinks he disappointed. Or Mrs. Potts, the woman he clearly loved – and lost, too. Not to death but to the truth.

But Peter may have seen it all wrong, may have seen nothing at all. He’s still young and naive and let’s face it: He might be Spider-Man, but he’s not a war hero, not a businessman, not even half the age of some of the people he works with. 

God, he likes that suit.

Peter’s thoughts come to an end by the time he arrives in front of his little mirror. The bathroom is nice, kind of cozy. A light green wave-pattern dances along the walls, connecting the tiles. The light is not too bright, maybe not bright enough to see every flaw on his face, on his body. 

Peter is naked except for the white pants and the Spider suit he still carries in his hands, feels with his fingertips. 

It’s soft.

***

_Monday._

MJ isn’t helping at all.

Of course she isn’t, because Darth Michelle – which is her completely unofficial name only Ned and Peter know, for they gave it to her very secretly and she is by no means allowed to know about it – hates Tony Stark. Period. She hates his attitude, his company and his wealth, but above all, Peter thinks, she hates the system he stands for, this –

" ... capitalistic bubble everyone accepts, like it’s okay thousands of people die under their nose," she hands him the cupcake from the counter, pays her own and starts walking out of the coffee shop. Peter trails behind her and catches up, slightly out of breath.

"Yeah, that – that’s terrible, it really is. I know. But Mr. Stark does so many good things, like, like the tech school he built in Uganda, remember? Or the time he donated all of the Nobel Prize money to that science project about renewable energies. He even forced General Motors to publish the data about the estimated pollution their products are responsible for and-"

"He is the wealthiest man in the world, Peter. Good publicity is more important than money at this point."

"He changed, though. He sold weapons and then he changed and became Iron Man," Peter continues – he can’t believe they are still talking about this. Mr. Stark is the best man he ever met. 

"I know it sounds dumb, but he really is a good man. I talked to him a lot about all that stuff, I mean, not exactly about the capitalistic bubble, but he gets really angry when people misuse his tech or wanna hurt others. He’s not like you think he is, I mean, I see a lot of the bad guys and even they have their problems and, you know, but they always choose the easy way. Mr. Stark isn’t doing it. I think he’s kind of sad. And he’s not – not at all like the man in the media,” he stops, reflects for a moment.

Well.

"Okay, he’s a little bit like the man in the media but for the most part, it’s a mask. And he’s rich, yes, he is probably the most powerful man in the world – skip the ‘probably’ – but that doesn’t make him a bad guy, does it?"

Peter is out of breath and his heart races like he’s getting a little bit too excited about the topic. The topic that is Tony Stark.

"If you have a crush on him again you should get over it. He’s still twice your age. What won’t change, in case you forgot."

"What? I don’t – I don’t have a-,” Peter almost chokes, swallows and lowers his voice. "I don’t. I mean, that would be weird? Hell, he’s still twice my – oh you just said that, right, but I’m completely over – I’m completely over it."

Yes. He realises he doesn’t look the part. But.

"Okay," she says bored, eating her cupcake.

"Why? I don’t. I – it would be really dumb to fall for him again, you know, haha–," he realises his forced laughter sounds actually forced, stops, _damn what should he say what should he say, don’t be weird, don’t be._

"For real, MJ," he starts.

"I don’t care. I mean, I do care – I’m your friend and though I kind of like to see you suffer sometimes-"

"You what?"

"It’s my nature. But I don’t want you to get hurt, so stop whining," she continues. "Even if Stark is a good man – which I don’t agree with – this will never work out, and it will never stop to hurt. You know that, right?"

Would "Please hurt me then, Sir." be an inappropriate answer? Yes, yes, yes. Oh yes.

***

_Tuesday._

_"Tony Stark."_

_**DU DU DUDU** screams the interlude music, the screen showing Betty Brant’s very intense look into the camera. Her eyebrows are lifted meaningful. _

_"Ever upward, brave students of the Empire State University. I am Betty Brant and this is …"_

_"Jason?"_

**_DUDUDU DUUU_ **

_"Five years after Vulture crushed the Stark jet into pieces with Spider-Man saving the day-"_

_**DUDUDU DUUU** , a close up of Spider-Man swinging through New York. _It’s kind of an unflattering angle, actually.

"Dude, they are so in love with you," Ned whispers in Peter’s ear, completely oblivious to the not-so-nice shot. He looks at his friend but Ned is already immersed in the school news again. Well. Peter gets his phone out and opens WhatsApp, scrolling to T.S. 

(Which stands for Tony Stark and yes, Peter got his number a while ago even though he texts a lot – _a lot_ – more than Mr. Stark. First, he thought he’d annoy him with all the things he sends, but no: Mr. Stark doesn’t always react in time but he reacts and he reacts nicely. Like he cares, like he really wants to know what Peter ate for breakfast this morning or if the chemistry test from tuesday went well.)

(Now he didn’t answer for a while though. There are two "Good work!"s, one "No time, sorry" and one spider gif, because apparently spiders are a thing between them both.)

(And Peter loves the spider gifs. Really. He also loves the thought that they have a _thing_ , no matter what said thing is. Or how creepy it is, MJ said in his head.)

(There are six messages he sent Mr. Stark after the last spider gif, no answer. It’s not like they need to be answered, there are no questions, just things like ‘Came back home from patrol, saved a cat from a tree in Central Park, so sweeeet’ but.)

(But yet, Mr. Stark usually answers. It’s a week now and he’s so silent. Peter just wishes Tony would’ve continued to live in the Avenger Tower, not outside of New York in the compound. He also wishes he could muster up the courage to get into a cab and visit him right now, so he can fucking stop waiting for the next biweekly visit.)

(He remembers the last time he visited him when Tony called ihm those words.)

(He thinks he shouldn’t think too much about those words or Mr. Starks silent expression afterwards, or the fact that right after that the real silence began. Or his plan to do it again, do it again, do it again.)

_" … biological weapons, even tech that could be used as a nuclear weapon and, uhm, weapons which were not manufactured here. I mean, on earth."_

Peter looks up.

_"He’s talking about alien tech."_

_"Alien laser guns?"_

_"Uh."_

**_DUDUDU DUUU_ **

_The New York Times cover flies into the screen, showing a neutral picture of Tony Stark underlined with the words: "STARK WEAPONS USED AGAINST CIVILIANS IN MEXICO, INVESTIGATION INITIATED"_

"Wait, what? What did they say?" Peter mutters confused, he didn’t pay that much attention, it’s just the clunky school news.

 _The New York Post cover crawls in front of Betty and Jason, getting bigger and bigger and bigger, saying "IS STARK A MASS MURDERER?"_ what the hell. _Below there’s an old picture of Mr.Stark, casting an angry glance at the camera._

**_DUDUDU DUUU_ **

_Betty continues: "As reported, the National Security already contacted Stark Industries for more information on the weapons and the attack. We’ll keep you up with the news. Jay?"_

_"Eh-"_

**_DUDUDU DUU_ **

_"The headmaster is still off sick this week, so Mrs. Bolton will be organising the annual OpenAI eSport event where you can submit your own artificial intelligence to play against some of the best Overwatch players. Which is probably not boring."_

_"Also you won’t have to attend class if you go there."_

_"And pizza."_

"Oh – I don’t think that’s good news, Peter."

Ned is staring at the poorly animated pizza gif that’s hovering over Betty’s face, dripping cheese.

"But what did they say? What does it have to do with Liz’ dad? Is he back?"

"Shouldn’t you, like, hear everything a lot better than me?," Peter seems kinda on edge, so Ned goes on. "Okay, okay – they didn’t say much, just all the things y- Spider-Man saved from Vulture that day? They were weapons, like, really bad stuff, bio weapons and-"

"But that’s not true. I mean, probably there were weapons but Mr. Stark would never use them to hurt people."

"No, Peter. They said he sold them to some of Vulture’s criminal friends a few months ago. I mean that’s bullshit, I guess? But they said they got proof, and now someone attacked Tepexpan in Mexico with alien laser guns."

"Could we not call them alien laser guns? Also – come on, that’s a joke. Why would he try to protect his stuff only to sell it five years later to the same bad guys? That’s ridiculous."

Ned is already shaking his head.

"Dude, did you really not hear a word they said? The police thinks Mr. Stark already tried to sell them five years ago but you intervened and saved the day. Well, the day until now."

Peter stills, mouth half-open. He can’t express how utterly wrong this sounds, how absurd. Then, Peter concludes "Someone is framing him." 

Shit.

He eyes Ned, looks at the screen and yes, he’s angry.

"I won’t let them do that."

Except he doesn’t really know what _exactly_ to do about it.

***

_Friday night._

The internet is actually (thank fucking god) helping a lot.

Peter has no secret name for the internet apart from Karen (he sometimes calls his Laptop Karen too) and no, he didn’t ask Karen herself if calling Mr. Stark _Sir_ or being called _good boy_ is a sexual thing and why, oh why does he feel like getting hard when someone calls him stupid names? Isn’t there anything left in him that is some kind of normal regarding his sexuality? Isn’t it enough that he’s not only bisexual but also experienced a 5-year-long crush on his 25 years older friend, oh yeah let’s call him _friend._

 _–_ a 5-year-long crush that made him think thoughts about those hands and the suit and everything Mr. Stark ever gave him, everything Mr. Stark ever said to him, made him do, everything .

He had it under control. He felt like he overcame the crush just a few weeks ago, just before Mr. Stark called him a good boy and everything fell apart, for no reason at all. Like a magical finger clicking, cruel and calculating, _click_.

But whatever, right. Whatever.

So he didn’t ask Karen about the good boy thing because Baby Protocol and just imagine that.Instead he went oldschool with his laptop.

It’s 3.21 am saturday morning, thirteen and a half hours after the media exploded with Tony Stark headlines, and Peter can’t sleep. Obviously. He went on patrol the moment he got out of school, swimming in oh so many distracting thoughts during his classes, all of them making him slowly crawl out of his skin. He got restless, antsy und he couldn’t stop his spider senses running wild until he was forced to listen to a dog chewing a chew bone two streets away from the university. Two streets .

He felt sweaty, thinking about Mr. Stark and the media, and who could possible hate the billionaire so much that he attacks a whole city just to frame him? Why? What could Peter do to help? He texted Mr. Stark of course, and Mr. Stark did answer.

One sentence.

_Lay low._

Well, Peter will do no such thing.

But after he swung himself breathless and got the nervous energy out of his system he didn’t feel any better. Because he still _wants_.

To do.

To help.

To make Mr. Stark call him _that_ again.

To change something, probably. To prove he can help. He doesn’t need to lay low, he’s strong. He’s mature. And above all, he wants to keep Mr. Stark safe. Peter Parker will not disappoint again, he will not lose someone again. He will stop the people who want to hurt Mr. Stark, he just doesn’t know how. Yet. Probably he should make a statement as Spider Man? Well, or not. Probably not a good idea.

So he tried to find a solution because isn’t this what scientists do? He didn’t find anything though, just news and articles about Mr. Stark secretly being a mafia boss, trying to rule the world. (Yes, he’s exaggerating – but wow, so fucking stupid.) 

No one knows who attacked the mexican city, the offenders were all masked, wearing black clothes. Probably mercenaries. No symbol of recognition, no tattoos, no nothing. Peter watched the youtube videos himself, they made him sick: Blurred, shaky mobile footage which often ended with a sudden cut, and other videos too far away to see anything important.

Even Karen couldn’t recognize any of them and Peter doubts another Stark AI will be more successful. 

People died. A lot of them. And Tony Stark, being framed by someone for having sold high tech weapons to criminals. It’s a mess and no matter how good Pepper Potts knows her job, no matter how much money flows through the PR apartment of Stark Industries, this is bad. Peter knows that much.

Mr. Stark isn’t answering his other texts too, which were 1) _how can I help?_ and after that 2) _please let me help_. It is making Peter sick and yes, maybe he has a problem with not being able to help and maybe he couldn’t do anything even if Mr. Stark wanted him to. Which he doesn’t, apparently.

He could, of course, call Vulture.

Which is a stupid idea – maybe the kind of stupid idea he would get killed for (at least by Mr. Stark who would definitively not approve).

But it’s his only stupid idea.

And there we are, 3.21 am in the morning, two options to choose: Being stupid or asking the internet what exactly it is – this good boy thing? And Peter chooses not to be stupid, at least not before he had his first dose of caffeine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, say hello to Mr. Stark.


	3. The Story Of No (or The One Time He Did It Again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter does it again.

_Saturday morning._

The night vanishes the second it’s more dark-blue than black outside. It’s not a slow process, it just disappears. _Puff_. Then there’s morning, day, light, people, cars. So in the end, the night lives quite a short period, ready to be eaten away by the first rays of light somewhere between 3 am and 8 am. It wanders too if you think about it. It breathes and crawls through the year, grows, and dies again, circling the earth as the biggest shadow any human being never saw. Poor thing, the night.

Today it got killed around 4 am. It’s July, the middle of the summer, but it’s cold and cloudy and humid. Someone might think it’s because of poor night’s death as it was especially cruel to watch those cold hands of fog strangle the darkness away until their black eyes eventually popped out and made way for the creeping light.

Peter can’t sleep until 5 am. His dry stare focusing far too long at the yellowish laptop screen. Reading, brooding, trying to get sleepy, and not thinking of Mr. Stark or Vulture or about how scared he is. 

Not thinking about how much he _wants_.

Mr. Stark would probably throw a StarkPad at his head if he was ever to know about the old Windows Vista thing he still uses, and he imagines his face, his voice, his good boy.

Peter’s not good at not thinking about Mr. Stark. Hell, he’s terrible at it. Always was. Every bit as terrible as he is at not being in love with him. It’s embarrassing and sad to think about his six-year-long crush, he’d been just a high school boy when it started. Dorky, naive, and … okay, he’s still dorky and naive, but whatever. He was 15 years old, he was _young_. It wasn’t more than a celebrity crush mixed with how grateful he was to have someone who looked after him, who cared. 

Then it became more. He got older and Mr. Stark became a much more important person in his life. It wasn’t a crush anymore, it wasn’t just thinking about the suit or the presents or how much he adored the older man. 

But wait, let’s go back again. Peter likes to remember the moment he first met Mr. Stark – what is a complicated answer to an even more complicated question: He probably first met him when he saw the funny interview on the TV. He was six years old and that man inside his TV said he couldn’t be Leonardo da Vinci because he doesn’t paint. He thought that was very funny because _how could he be da Vinci if he doesn’t paint_ and of course, da Vinci was kind of good at everything. Peter always liked him, da Vinci, but that man inside his TV didn’t look like someone that would resemble the genius, okay.

Then again, maybe he first met him a few months later when some girl at his school told him about Iron Man.

_He’s like superman, he is so cool, when I grow up I’ll be like him._

At that time, Iron Man’s appearance changed Peter’s worldview completely. Not because of the man behind the mask and not because Iron Man saved people and was just really cool, and all that. Peter has been a comic nerd since forever, he read a lot of that stuff and he loved (still loves) science fiction, Star Trek, movies in general, yes – but especially fantasy worlds that are based on scientific findings. The especially cool tech that wasn’t pulled out of the hat like a rabbit but could be explained, at least in some way.

Through his mere appearance Iron Man not only told him that yes, superheroes exist, he also told him science fiction can make it to reality. 

He kind of told him he’s not alone. 

Because Peter was very alone at that time, he had no friends and he didn’t understand the concept of friendship (of course a lot of his classmates were idiots anyway) – he liked to be alone. He only didn’t like to feel alone. Who does?

Later he realized the man inside his TV was indeed Iron Man, and he _invented a superhero_. There was no magic, no real superpower but intelligence and tech, and Peter thought she was right. That interviewer. Iron Man must be the da Vinci of this time. Tony Stark must be.

He was a fan, to say the least. He wanted to be like him. He wanted to invent things like that. He thought, _I probably could do that._ He thought _I hate like everyone doesn’t understand what I’m saying or thinking, but probably he would._ It’s the kind of thoughts a lot of kids like him had, only that in his case they were kind of justified. Something he only realized much later.

After that, he remembers the moment he really met Iron Man for the first time. It’s embarrassing to think about it, but his history with Mr. Stark has never been short of embarrassments, to put it charitably.

Two years after Iron Man popped out of Mr. Stark's workshop, things got wild in New York City. It was a time when Peter completely lost himself in his Iron Man hype, he had an Iron Man mask and a self-made Iron Man glove with a little light in the middle of his hand. 

(He tried to recreate the Iron Man suit and he disassembled not only uncle Ben’s old microwave because of that, but also a radio, an old TV he found in the streets, and his old Xbox – because he already had the Xbox 360 at that time, and why not?)

Robots attacked the city and people screamed and uncle Ben wanted to _be right back_ after he disappeared inside a local shop for watches. He remembers a loud explosion and the building caught fire but when he wanted to run inside, a woman took his hand and dragged him away, away, away.

A moment later, she was away too. 

And he did the only rational thing, he put on his mask and his glove to go save uncle Ben, when suddenly one of the robots landed right in front of him, pointing that weapon at his head. He remembers how it looked at him like it was alive like it wanted to kill him. His heart pounded like crazy because what if it did? He needed to stay, he needed to fight it. He could do it, he thought. Because of course, he wasn't only a dumb kid, he was _that_ kind of a dumb kid. 

He pointed the Iron Man glove at the robot and it made BOOM. He jumped, scared to death and for a moment he thought, _I did destroy it_. But it was Iron Man, the real one, looking at him and telling him "Nice work, kid." before flying away.

That day, uncle Ben didn’t die. That day, Iron Man probably didn’t save the world, but definitely saved Peter’s world. What didn’t change the fact that his uncle lived on borrowed time, and he wished he knew because then he could have made more out of it, right?

After that, his Iron Man hype got worse. Little did he know about being a real superhero. Little did he know about the real Tony Stark, too. And someone might say all these encounters simply don’t count because Peter never met Mr. Stark’s eye, always something between them, always a wall of metal and tech and distance in the middle.

When he did though, he wasn’t the little kid anymore. He wasn’t human anymore, not in the classic sense. He still admired Tony Stark, but he had a life of his own now, it was good. It was okay. It was chaotic, yes, but also peaceful in its way.

Now it’s all so complicated.

Peter wonders. What if he’s wrong? What if Mr. Stark doesn’t even remember the last time, what if he wasn’t interested in any names he could call Peter? God, this sounds so weird.

Peter is going to die of embarrassment if he’s wrong. Now even more because he let the dirty side of the internet drown him with things like those names and what is it called? Power play, domination and submission, even BDSM _._

(Peter did not see or read Fifty Shades of Grey, but as much as he doesn’t want to, he’s intrigued.)

It’s so much he didn’t know. First and foremost the fact that it’s a kink, yeah, but it’s not a kink unique to him. There are a lot of people calling each other _Sir_ or _good boy, good girl_ , or other names like Master (he won’t do that, okay), even slave (oh my god). Some relationships consist of one partner who’s serving the other one constantly (he won’t do that either), but they both do it because they want to. So it’s about the power play, but – mostly – not about real power play. There are even contracts. Like an employment agreement, saying _Partner A is allowed to spank me if I do something wrong, but he isn’t allowed to chain me up for more than two hours._

Honestly? Peter is still a virgin, but after reading about that he feels like no man in the world can deflower him harder. 

Mr. Stark probably could. 

Peter needs to sleep like RIGHT NOW.

What’s more, most of it doesn’t feel right to him. Not in a moral way obviously, Peter’s perfectly fine with people doing what they want to do. But a lot of the stuff he reads is just too much. He’d probably start giggling if he was to call someone Master and he doesn’t want to be chained up for punishment, thank you very much. He thinks.

Which is fine since Stark is probably not into those kinks as well. He probably isn’t into any kinks, and more importantly, he for sure isn’t even into Peter. This throws him back to the beginning of his pointless chain of thoughts, back to the question if he just imagined Mr. Stark staring; if he imagined they both felt it.

Finally, Peter gets tired.

He shuts down good old Windows Vista, rubs his sleepy eyes, and crashes into his bed. Slowly he pushes his left knee up, only a bit. The blanket is soft but how couldn’t it be? It’s designer fabric, cushy and smooth. It smelled very good from the first day on.

Mr. Stark sent it over after Peter showed him his room with facetime two years ago. Peter didn’t ask for it, but of course, he thanked him later. It wasn’t a big deal. Or was it?

***

Saturday evening, Peter allows himself to be stupid.

He calls Liz to get the chance to talk to her dad in jail. What he doesn’t know though is that there’s no chance he’ll ever talk to Vulture again.

Since he’s dead.

The man got out of prison two weeks ago; it was an early release because of his good behavior in jail. They called it good time conduct and Peter wonders if Liz’ Dad changed after their fight, or later. Probably to be there for his daughter. He’ll never know now because he got shot only a few days after his release. They don’t know who it was or why and Liz isn't up for discussing the subject on the phone.

She sounds forlorn, on the verge of tears and Peter tries to comfort her only to release that things have changed; they are not friends anymore, let alone something else. She hangs up after a few more polite words, leaving Peter more sad and scared than before.

Vulture is dead. 

Peter can’t wrap his head around the information, doesn’t understand how his death could possibly fit into the same puzzle Peter tried to solve last night. Who’s framing Mr. Stark if not Vulture? Who hates Vulture and Mr. Stark? And why does the public think he, Spider-Man, tried to stop Mr. Stark from selling weapons to the bad guys? It’s grotesque.

And Mr. Stark still isn’t answering his texts, the bastard. What is even worse, Peter knows full well why he isn’t answering. He didn’t forget it or something, and yes, he might be busy with a lot of PR meetings, but he would’ve answered if he wanted to.

It leaves him with one conclusion: Mr. Stark doesn’t want to. 

For all Peter knows he wants to protect him and no, he won’t have that anymore.

So he decides to push the limits a little bit.

‘Vulture’s dead’, he types into his phone, sitting cross-legged on his oh so soft but now messy bedsheets. 

The reply comes immediately. Bastard.

‘I know. Why do you know?’

‘I called him, Mr. Stark.’

‘Cheeky little spider.’

 _Oh_. That’s… not what Mr. Stark should reply to him? Like, that was very unexpected. Peter stares at his phone, his heart suddenly beating way too fast. He even gets sweaty and he’s so glad they are just texting. 

(This would be the moment Mr. Stark calls him just to irritate him because Mr. Stark always seems to know what Peter thinks, even when they are not on the same fucking continent. But in the end, well, Peter would love it even more _because_ it irritates him.) 

(It doesn’t happen, though.)

But he gets an idea of what is happening here, eyes the time his mobile phone shows and types again –

‘Are you drunk?’

It’s only 8.32 pm, but. 

_‘Are you my mother?’_

Yep, definitely drunk. Peter should be the responsible adult here and stop texting him. 

‘Wouldn’t that be weird, Sir?’

Sir. He did it. 

_‘If you call me like that, yes.’_

Oh shit. He talks about it. He talks about the _Sir._ Mr. Stark is probably completely wasted, but Peter can’t bring himself to stop. Also, he worries about him; he always does when Mr. Stark drinks too much (if he allows him to notice it, which might not be the case most of the time it happens).

At least, Peter should stop talking about the Sir-thing when Mr. Stark is drunk.

‘I don’t have a problem with being weird, you know. People call me weird all the time’, Peter writes instead. His heart hammers as if Thor himself would swing it into his chest; it makes him dizzy and he doesn’t want to think about Mr. Stark getting up tomorrow, all hungover and thinking about Peter who flirted with his intoxicated self.

_‘Is that why you started to send me this?’_

What follows is a spider gif. 

Aw. Peter grins but decides Mr. Stark probably wants to deflect. Peter knows some of his strategies by now.

‘You like them.’

_‘Didn’t say I don’t.’_

‘I think we are both weird, Mr. Stark.’

_‘Why are you texting me anyway? It’s bedtime.’_

‘It’s 8:42 pm. I’m not 12.’

_‘Fair. Sorry I didn’t answer before. Rough day.’_

Peter feels warm.

‘I’m so sorry about what happened. I want to help.’

_‘Don’t worry.’_

It sounds like Mr. Stark wants to stop texting; like he doesn’t trust himself when he’s drunk. If Peter’s right he should let him get some rest. Text him again tomorrow. Right.

‘Sir?’

He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t want to stop saying things though. Does that make sense? He wishes he could ask Mr. Stark.

_‘hm’_

‘don’t know’

It’s true. And Peter has already forgotten about his plan to push the limits, he’s never been on the rebellious side. But he wants. 

Wants so much.

And he doesn’t know exactly what it is he wants, doesn’t know how he can get it and if he’ll ever be able to deserve it.

Tick. _‘_

_Look, kid. Could you stop calling me that?’_

Kid. Peter suddenly starts to hate Mr. Stark calling him a kid.

His lips are pursed and his skin gets clammy, but not in a good way. He’s not made to be rejected by Tony Stark. He feels like he wants to never answer again or like he even wants to throw his phone away, _make it go away._ But no. He’s not a kid anymore.

So he types instead, ‘of course.’

Then adds hastily, ‘sorry.’

He’ll die. Someone will kill him. Mr. Stark will.

_‘why do you do it anyway? what’s wrong with Tony?’_

Okay, probably still alive. But soon he’ll be dead. Unless he’ll survive telling Mr. Stark why, of course. Which he might not. Peter feels the heat crawling into his cheeks and forehead, he doesn't know what to say.

Or does he.

‘what’s wrong with Sir?’

Peter holds his breath, looks up from his phone and gapes, shocked. _Oh shit he shouldn’t have said that what the fuck did he think, can he please disappear right now, thank you, how about a spider gif to diffuse the tension huh._

Silence. And Peter is panicking, so no one is allowed to judge him for –

‘joke?’

– when Mr. Stark replies in the exact same moment,

_‘cheeky’_

_‘little spider-boy’_

Peter will die of … – he doesn’t even know what he’ll die of, but it has already started by burning his head off. Perhaps he’s going to self-destruct? And Mr. Stark is very positively drunk. Oh god, he shouldn’t.

‘I’m not little, Sir.’

_‘I pretend you didn’t say that.’_

_‘Also the Sir.’_

_‘come on pete’_

Peter smirks, his conscience falling to ashes. Mr. Stark isn’t really mad though, he’s playful? They often play around but never like that. Always innocent, always like friends or ‘kid you’re dorky and funny, I always wanted to have a son’-like, but never like this.

‘can I pretend you didn’t say that too?’

_‘we could pretend we didn’t say anything at all. HA!’_

_‘sounds like a good idea for my insomnia schedule.’_

‘what is an insomnia schedule, sir.’

_‘you’re killin me, SIR’_

_‘the kind of sleep schedule where you don’t sleep’_

‘I’m sorry’

‘can I help?’

Peter wants to. It’s like an ache, it hurts to not be able to help and it even hurts more to imagine Mr. Stark lying in his bed, drunk and awake and miserable. Is it so wrong he wants to be there for him?

 _‘I appreciate it, kid,'_ the reply plings after a while. And Peter knows right away, he’s going to call it a night.

_‘Need to be insomniac now though, can’t disappoint the schedule. Sleep well, kid.’_

Peter bites his lip.

‘I hope you sleep well too, Sir’

Oh god.

cheeky little spider-boy

_Oh god._

you’re killin me, SIR

Peter is hard.

***

The next morning, two messages are waiting for Peter, both from Mr. Stark.

First, one from 5:31 am: ‘Just call me Tony.’

The second one from 6:54 am: ‘End of story.’

Somehow he didn’t realize before how much it would sting, or has he been so sure Mr. Stark would say yes to whatever this is?

_***_

_Sunday night._

It’s a different shade of black today. Even though New York City's nights are never black, no matter the day, the time, the mood. 

They lie at Peter’s feet, all the cars, and the people and the voices; thousand feet away, where they blend into a calming white noise, softly washing over the boy. 

Some years ago Peter got bitten by a spider.

Two days later the noise started. It’s the first thing he remembers after the bite, as he slipped in and out of consciousness the hours before. What a miracle his aunt didn’t notice any of it.

The noise was the most terrifying, maybe the most painful part of his becoming. One second it wasn’t there, the next second it was everywhere. He couldn’t even scream. It was pushing all the air out of his lungs – it was thousands of people talking, thousands of cars running, thousands of TVs blaring, thousands of clocks ticking, thousands of noses breathing.

Yet it was not mixed, not how it should’ve been, for his exploding senses made him hear everything separately – in a circuit of several miles. 

He felt like dying and May wasn’t at home.

And he remembers, no matter how corny it sounds now, that he looked up in agony, covering his ears with all the force he had left, only to lock his eyes with Iron Man.

The poster on his wall, that was.

He knew Iron Man's voice by heart, so he clenched his eyes and tried to _just hear him, even though he didn’t know how he could hear a poster, how he could hear Iron Man, how even his hero could help him._

It didn’t work, of course. It was too much for him, but instead of losing himself to the panic his chest screamed, he got up, stumbled into the bathroom, locked it, and crashed into the shower.

The water made it go away. He started crying with relief and desperation at once, too small and young to understand what happened to him. And why it happened.

For years he would use the shower to block the noise, even after he managed to control his powers. Thing is, he could never perfect his management. What happens when he loses the battle he calls _slipping_ , and he doesn’t slip during fights or other dangerous situations, it’s not like that. Mostly he slips because of his anxiety – and he just slipped a little at school this week, after he heard about Mr. Stark in the newspapers.

He’s slipping now.

But he doesn’t use the shower anymore. Instead, he comes here – the top of the Chrysler Building. Well, not exactly the top, but the roof a few feet under the antenna. He could’ve chosen the Avenger Tower of course, but he doesn’t like to be seen or recognized; he also didn’t want to seem presumptuous by hanging around there even though he isn’t one of them. 

So he settled for the building next to the tower, observing from afar. 

After Mr. Stark left and sold the Avengers Tower, the big A disappeared and other companies bought the facilities, a law firm among others. Some rich people live at the very top, inside Mr. Stark’s quarters. Peter doesn’t care.

What he cares about is the white noise and the huge graffiti plastered over one wall of the tower. People tried to clean it off every now and then, but it keeps reappearing, like magic. Like a superhero would always do, he thinks, and he keeps staring at the gigantic picture of Iron Man.

Peter loves to look at it. It’s the same motive his old teen poster showed, a fully armored Iron Man, flying while putting out his hand to shoot his lasers at whatever supervillain he’s currently fighting.

It calms him to just be here. To just look. Like he still was a little boy, living with his aunt May. A boy who only had to go to school and after that, when night comes, he would lay in his bed and dream about being a superhero. Like Iron Man.

Peter sometimes wants it back, his childhood.

***

_Monday._

"I want to punch myself for saying it out loud, but I don’t think he’s not into it,'' is what MJ tells him after a) hugging Peter for like an eternity and then b) staring at him after he finally told her what happened.

It’s the Monday after, half an hour into their lunchtime. They sit inside MJs favorite fairtrade coffee shop, only a few blocks away from the Empire State University. She sips her Caramel Macchiato (believe it or not, MJ likes sweet things) and Peter tries to at least look like he’ll eat the bagel he bought. Which he probably won’t.

"I just should’ve never brought it up, MJ. Why did I do that? Can you tell me that? Oh never mind, please don’t answer, I know I’m stupid. And he’ll hate me now, or worse – he’s pitying me. God, it’s so embarrassing, and you know what's even worse?"

He came to this conclusion when he couldn’t sleep Sunday night. Again. He knew he wouldn’t, so he didn’t even try. He’s got his own insomnia schedule now. Ha.

"That I thought he … I just thought he would-," his voice cracks and he’s so scared to lose Mr. Stark, _Tony_ because of his utter stupidness.

"Can I slap you?," is what MJ asks.

"What - OUW, what the fuck MJ!"

Did she just really box his shoulder?

"Why did you do that?"

"Wanted to know if you’d like it. Because apparently, you have submissive tendencies."

Peter just stares, blushing. At least he isn’t crying anymore, so that’s that, "I what, I – well, uh, I don’t like it, thank you!"

"Your welcome."

He can’t believe his friend. Why didn’t he tell Ned? He’d be a lot more sympathetic.

"Did you listen to what I said or were you too occupied with pitying yourself?"

"I don’t pity myself", Peter sniffs, "and even if I was, I would have every reason to."

He sounds childish and he knows it, but fuck it.

"I said, I don’t think he’s not into it. That thing. You know, that sex kink you have," MJ ignores him, when he mouths ‘NOT SO LOUD’, getting even pinker around his nose. Then Peter opens his lips again but doesn’t know what to say; he’s definitely mortified and definitely in denial that he told her about the good boy thing _and_ (as if it wouldn’t be enough, right) showed her the WhatsApp messages.

Damn.

"You think he’s into it?"

What.

"Are you blind? Or, like, stupid?"

"Oh thank you so much, you are helping me a lot here. I already feel better, please continue."

Of course, she doesn’t care.

"Here," she taps on his phone unimpressed, the TS chat open. He cranks his neck to look at what she points at:

_‘we could pretend we didn’t say anything at all. HA!’_

_‘sounds like a good idea for my insomnia schedule.’_

Peter sighs, his chest already aching again.

"He doesn’t sleep well, MJ. I wish I could do something, like, I know, what could I do about it, right? But still, it sucks," he mutters to himself, hair chaotic and eyes a little red-rimmed from before. Someone could think he looks equally adorable and pitiful, but MJ just slaps him again. This time with the phone.

"WHAT IS – what is your problem, stop punching me, I didn’t do anything!" Peter turns his voice down, "I, uh, I don’t see your point, okay? Look at me, I’m a mess, could you stop punching me please?"

Peter buries his face in his hands, which earns him MJs sympathetic hand, squeezing his shoulder.

"I just want you to start thinking for a few secs. Can you do that for me? Your IQ says you are a genius, remember?"

"I don’t want to be a genius,'' Peter mutters, "I want him to like me."

Well. That’s not a lie.

MJ rolls her eyes, but she’s a good friend – she doesn’t punch Peter again, although she kind of wants to.

"I won’t say ‘He likes you’, because you know very well he does. But if only you could stop whining for a moment you’d see it’s not about him not wanting- you know. That. I guess he thinks it’s wrong," she pauses, "Also he’s probably right, which I thought I’d never say, and I hate that I had to."

At this, Peter finally lifts his head.

"Because of the age gap?"

She looks at his cupcake, "You gonna eat that?"

Peter shakes his head like a shot and she takes it swiftly. 

"Not just that. You are half his age. You acted like he’s something like a stepdad-"

"I didn’t-"

"-You were his protégé. He is one of the most powerful men in the world. You are, well, only you."

(Peter mouths "Come on!", even though he gets her point.)

"He met you when you were fifteen, and he treated you like a son as well. You’ve grown up, but he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. It’s a gigantic power imbalance and calling him those names makes it worse. I know what a kink is, Peter; it doesn’t have to be like that, but right now Stark certainly sees it this way."

She sighs, finally taking a bite, swallowing.

"It is a bad idea, and you know it. There is nothing wrong with liking what you like, but this screams ‘problem’. I’m still pretty sure he’s into it. Did he call you or someone else a good boy ever before?"

Peter slowly shakes his head. Not that he remembers.

"He didn’t because he’s doing this to different people. In different situations, if you know what I mean."

"Oh."

"I’m going to drown myself in the toilet now. Eat something, you look like hell", is what his best friend says before she stands up, excusing herself to the restroom.

***

Jarvis is naturally helping a lot.

And why wouldn’t he, Tony designed him to be of help. Even in situations like this – especially in situations like this.

"Jarv, what was her number again," the billionaire mutters, throwing the screwdriver in the air and catching it with an experienced hand. Tony sits inside the workshop, some holographic sketches of a strange watch and a half-empty whiskey glass in front of him.

"Janice Cord's private number is saved to the server. Should I call her, Sir?"

"Nah. Delete her number. Not a good idea."

"You activated the two-step-verification for the process of deleting numbers. And you told me to remind you of the Rogers incident."

"Do I hear sass in your voice, Jarv?"

The AI needs a few seconds to process the question.

Finally: "Indeed, you did program me to be sassy, Sir."

"I’m dead certain I did. Then delete Peter's number. No, wait. Show me the chat again."

The holographic display in front of Tony changes back to the WhatsApp chat he stared at for hours last night. As if it were not enough, Peter’s profile picture is officially adorable as well.

"New protocol. Block all contact with Peter Parker when I’m over … what was my blood alcohol concentration Saturday evening?"

"According to the bio scans, your blood alcohol concentration peaked at 0,255%. May I add something, Sir?"

Tony is already immersed in his chat with Peter again, gesturing an ‘if you have to’ with his hand.

"From a BAC percentage of 0,200% onwards, individuals can plead diminished responsibility in court."

"Wait, Pete is over 17, right?"

"Peter Parker is 21 years old, Sir. But you may consider you were not in your right mind when you communicated with him. The chances of experiencing a blackout from 0,200% BAC onwards are 64% and higher."

"Ah, I keep forgetting he’s aging like a goddamn time machine," Tony mutters to himself, groans and blinks away from the chat, and the ‘I’m not little, Sir’ – shit, the kid’s gonna kill him, that’s for sure.

"So, you are implying I should lie to Peter? Tell him I blacked out."

"I am not programmed to imply anything, Sir."

"Of course you aren’t," Tony says sardonically, "Jarvis, new protocol: Block all contact with Peter Parker when I’m over 0,100% of blood alcohol concentration. Chat, calls, everything. And send Janice a message. We should meet this week, let’s say tomorrow? And send her something nice."

"Flowers, Sir?"

"Perfect."

"It’s my pleasure, Sir."

Jarvis sounds smug as far as an AI can sound anything other than neutral. Tony thinks he really should reprogram him to _not_ sass him, but. 

But Tony may even like it sometimes.

***

When MJ comes back from the restroom, she hasn’t drowned at all, but she looks worried.

"I thought about it and I got to say one more thing."

Peter blinks, not sure if he’ll like what she thought about. Not sure if he’ll make it through another reason why he shouldn’t feel what he feels.

"You should ask yourself what you want."

Peter thinks it doesn’t matter what he wants as long as Stark doesn’t want him.

"I know what I want."

"Yea, that’s not what I’m getting at, even though I’m proud of you for identifying your sexual preferences," she finishes her coffee, "Do you want Stark to be who he is right now? I know you miss your unc-… I know you miss him."

There’s nothing Peter could say to that.

"You can’t have both. You realize that, right?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony keeps forgetting Peter’s age. And Peter needs to decide what he wants. The next chapter is a surprise, though.
> 
> Also, I know being drunk with 0,255% blood alcohol concentration is like ‘you’re are constantly vomiting and what the fuck you couldn’t even hold a phone’. But Tony is a long time alcoholic and he has a pretty high tolerance, so he is perfectly capable of thinking and doing things when being this drunk. And well, he didn’t need to hold a phone.
> 
> Finally: [The spider gif Tony sent Peter.](https://i.imgur.com/v6VgeFF.gif?noredirect)  
> Searching ‘spider gif funny’ with google is NOT funny. I’m not okay.


	4. Sir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three little stories that happened in the past: Two times Peter called Mr. Stark ‘Sir’ and one time Mr. Stark nearly lost it. It's all in chronological order.
> 
> (There are several years between the first and the second part, but only a few weeks between the second and the third part.)

**Tin Man**

"SIR THAT’S SO COOL PLEASE CAN I KEEP THE SUIT?" Peter nearly screams, drugged to the eyeballs with adrenalin after swinging around the Avenger tower. He lands next to Iron Man, who observed everything from the roof.

Mr. Stark lifts his hands defensively, "Woah, hold your horses, kid. ‘Course you can keep it, whatcha think why I made it? And how about not screaming into my ears through the speakers?"

"’M sorry Mr. Stark," Peter pants after telling Karen to unmask his head, grinning madly, "It’s so—woah, really, did you see how high I went?! It smells like a new car in here and it’s not even uncomfortable, I mean of course it isn’t, uh, but it’s armored, like your suit and I—I can’t believe it! Can I keep it?"

Mr. Stark stares for a moment and finally laughs.

"Believe it or not, it’s yours. But I have to think up a better nickname now, poor me. Underoos isn’t fitting with the Iron Spider Armour, is it?" He hums the last sentence and starts heading to the roof door. Peter trails along.

"Iron Spider Armour? You named it-"

"I did."

"You named it like-"

"Please don’t start crying." When Mr. Stark holds the door open for him, Peter could see the joy in his eyes, albeit the teasing. For a moment it’s a challenge to not start crying, and he runs his fingers through his hair out of sheer restlessness. He stops inside the door frame.

They haven’t been this close since the ‘it’s not a hug, kid’-thing. Which, of course, is not bothering Mr. Stark at all. 

"Mr. Stark, it’s so cool," Peter breathes.

"Already said that. Already thanked me. Just take it, kid. It’s your birthday present or somethin’," Mr. Stark winks, still—now kind of awkwardly—holding the door. Since when was the boy calling him Sir again?

Peter grins wider, not awkward at all.

"It’s not my birthday."

"But you do happen to have birthdays, right? Like, the things where people throw charity parties in your name and Pep leaves you a package you suddenly notice a few days later—oh, that was my birthday last year. Well, whatever," he turns and walks to the elevator, "It’s what I give you for your next birthday, but you can use it as of now."

Peter is still out of breath by the time they reach the elevator, which can take them anywhere, from Mr. Stark’s quarters to the entrance hall of the Stark Tower. 

"How about Tin Boy?," Mr. Stark asks rhetorically.

"Tin  _ Boy _ ? I’m not a-"

"You really wanna tempt me to call you Tin Man?"

"Like the guy in Wizards of Oz? I like Tin Man, I mean, he’s-"

"Stop right there. No more movie references."

" _ Come on. _ "

"Nah-nah-nah, you will not give yourself the nickname."

"Mr. Stark?"

"Tin pan? Rotten Tomatoes? Teen Vogue? I’ll go for Teen Vogue," Mr. Stark deadpans and Peter should be offended. But he’s smiling now, amused and something else.

"What?" Stark asks.

Peter doesn’t stop smiling.

"Thank you, Sir."

What shouldn’t make Stark feel warm all over, but whatever.

***

**Stick Around**

Peter is stuck.

"Should I call Mr. Stark, Peter?" Jarvis asks politely from somewhere.

"Nononono, no, don’t call him, please. I just need to," he pulls, pulls harder,  _ pulls harder— _ and crashes forward into Mr. Stark's Workstation which innocently sits next to Peters, "Oh shit, oh shit, I broke nothing, didn’t—shit, oh god, don’t be broken, little thingy; what are you?"

He stills, one arm glued to the worktable while his head, chest, and his other hand are stuck to something Mr. Stark worked on over the last few days. Which sticks to the workstation too, so he’s officially and wholly stuck.

"Is this a new—oh my god. Is this a nanotech suit inside a watch?!" Peter cheeps, suddenly not being bothered at all about his situation. 

(Which includes his cheek and body being glued to Mr. Starks’s work table because he kind of miscalculated the needed rest period for his web fluid.)

(Which also includes a not-yet-figured-out tech thing he destroyed with his face.)

(Peter honestly doesn’t know why the fluid exploded all over him.)

"What’s up, Peter-boy? Didn’t think you’d stick around after I told you to go home at ten." Mr. Stark suddenly enters the room in black shorts and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, his hair a little ruffled. What doesn’t change the fact that he is beyond doubt the most authoritative human being in the entire building.

Peter wants to duck down, but he can’t move, so:

"Uhm."

"Uhm, yeah? Yes, what ‘Uhm’? Uhm, sorry Mr. Stark, but I didn’t want to listen to you because I thought it was a good idea to play around in YOUR workshop until— Jarvis, what time is it?"

"It is 2.12 am, Sir."

"-until Jarvis has to wake up the boss, that’s me by the way, to get out of bed and find a boy glued with his face—oh my god—to his workstation."

"Jarvis, come on, I told you not to tell him," is what Peter has to say to this. He might be panicking.

"I apologize, Mr. Parker. It is for your best," Jarvis answers dolefully.

"Not to tell him? Oh, now you think Jarvis is your incredible advanced artificial intelligence, Mr. Very-young-and-very-inexperienced-spiderling?" Tony stops right in front of the chaos, clearly enjoying the conversation with his completely immobilized protégé.

Peter huffs.

"What was that?"

"I’m 20 years old, I don’t have to go home before eleven. Also, I live alone! And it’s—I’m really sorry, Sir-"

"I decide how old you are, and right now you’re around fourteen, probably fifteen if you didn’t destroy—ah," he falters, bending down over the boy to look at his now broken laser beam he built a couple of days before.

"I’m so sorry, Sir. I’ll fix it, I just—I just need to wait for a little while, I think," Peter mumbles, breathing Mr. Stark in. In a good way that is, or in a terrible way, because now he’s fucking glad he glues to a table so that Mr. Stark can’t see his burning face. 

Good thing is, he can’t see Stark's eyes too, which just got a shade darker.

"How long do you think it’ll last?" Mr. Stark asks equally quietly.

"I don’t know, Sir. I think—I think it could last a few hours."

"There’s no way to get it off? Or make it fluent again?"

Peter swallows. He doesn’t know, but he also feels like he can’t think straight. Mr. Stark is still bent over him and Peter feels his stomach dropping with guilt and, again, something else.

"I don’t know. But I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t wanna wake you, really, or break your things, I-I-"

"Hey, it’s okay. It’s nothing. Are you hurt?"

Peter stills again, closes his eyes and sighs. It’s not a desperate sigh, though. He feels a lot better than he should.

"No, Mr. Stark."

He doesn’t answer. And Peter doesn’t too. But he’s warm. It’s not uncomfortable anymore. He should ask himself what the fuck is happening right now, why he is feeling like he’s high, which he isn’t, why Mr. Stark doesn’t say anything, but. 

But Peter doesn’t think at all. Slowly, his thoughts float towards a very different direction, embracing Tony’s scent that drifts into his nose. He likes it.

Finally, Mr. Stark clears his throat, "I figured it out. Stick where you are."

Funny. 

Ten minutes later Peter is free. They look at each other in silence. 

Then, "Did you really invent a nanotech suit inside a watch, Sir? That’s so cool!"

***

**Dirty Talk**

He’s in the middle of his weekly board meeting (boring) when his phone vibrates.

'Sir?’

Ah. Not so boring anymore. Tony smirks.

_ ‘Made yourself comfortable, hm?’ _ is what he replies in the chat. He left the girl a couple of hours ago in his bedroom. She definitely needed sleep.

‘Oh yeah, it’s so nice, thank you again! How did you know I’d like to have one?’

Tony thinks of the black luxury skirt he left for her (so she can wear it all day, and Tony  _ knows _ ).

_ ‘It’s my job to know things, isn’t it, dear?’ _

Is it getting warmer inside the conference room or is Tony imagining things? He looks around for a moment but decides to not start listening. He’s got better things to do anyway.

_ ‘'What does it look like? Let me see.’  _

_ ‘Now.’ _

The girl is quiet, but she’s got a job to do now, so Tony doesn’t mind leading the talk.

_ ‘Gonna tell you what to wear with it. How about that?’ _

Probably the nice Gucci high heels he had brought with them, or rather the silk top? Decisions, decisions.

‘Fuck. Need a moment.’

Is she– 

Tony stares. 

Well, the girl has nerves and—more importantly—stamina. How is she even doing it? She came like two times in a row, Tony is very sure of that.

_ ‘Did I give you permission to do whatever you are doing right now?’ _

The girl is practically screaming for it, he thinks.

‘Sorry just’

_ ‘Just what? Tell me.’ _

She records a voice message. Tony is almost losing it. How is he supposed to endure the whole fucking meeting? When the message hits his phone, he immediately activates his wireless earphones and clicks play.

"Mr. Stark, it’s so cool, really, I never had a watch. I mean, I have a phone and a-all, and you’re sure it’s for me? It smells amazing! Oh, I—I didn’t wanna say that, hope it wasn’t weird. It’s because of my senses, like, exploding. Sometimes."

Exploding.

"Uh. What I wanted to say is, eh—thank you very much, it must have been expensive, or I don't know, did you design it? You know you don’t have to do that? I kinda dig you like doing it, so. Uhm. And oh, the photo, yeah! Sorry about that, but there were these guys—HEY DIDN’T YOUR MOM EVER TELL YOU NOT TO INTERRUPT PEOPLE WHEN THEY TALK ON PHONE— _ krshhzzz _ —oh sorry Mr. Stark, I’m on patrol and these guys just broke into that little open-late store a few blocks away from home, that one with the blue gummy bears, remember? Oh, you probably don’t remember, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t talk that much, I’m sure you’re busy."

A pause.

"I mean, I’ll send you the pic later, Mr. Stark. And I’d love it if- if you said what to wear with the watch, I mean, you probably don’t know what I have in my closet, but. Yeah. Uhm. Bye!"

SHIT.

Second voice message.

SHITSHITSHIT.

"It’s not the suit watch, right? It’s not the one with the suit inside?" Peter asks like he’ll die of excitement in a moment or two. And at that Tony finally has to smile.

_ ‘It is, kid.’ _

‘OH MY FUCKING GOD’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who is waiting for web bondage? I am. (That’s the moment I realize I am completely alone with the thought and everybody stares at me.)


	5. It Makes BOOM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Tony finally meet. Also, Tony forgetting Peter’s age is definitely intentional.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments! I really appreciate every word you write. ♡  
> Besides, I'm sorry I posted one day late, stupid life interrupted the schedule of posting every Sunday. But I won't be late next time! Promise.

_Next Friday evening._

NEWSFLASH! _Billionaire Tony Stark now has to stand trial in Washington for arms trafficking after the surfacing of highly incriminating papers and contracts with criminal organizations. I’m Christine Everhart for NewsFront._

It’s five days after Mr. Stark told Peter to call him Tony, and they didn’t exchange a word after that. Peter thought about texting, his finger hovering above the touch screen, again and again, day after day. But what should he say? ‘I’m sorry’? ‘’Course I can call you Tony, look at this funny spider gif’?

Also, they have bigger problems now. Even though _they_ might be a little exaggerated since Mr. Stark—Tony—kept Peter out of everything happening to Stark Industries right now. Tuesday, even Pepper Potts reached out to him with the following message:

_Peter,_

_Stay out of this. I know you want to help but don’t. SI is working on a strategy to deal with the false allegations. We need you to lay low and don’t accept any interviews. We need you to stay safe and_ **_not make inquiries_ ** _._

_This is not something we merely tell you. I asked everyone on the team to do the same._

_I know it is hard, and you worry about Tony. If you want to help, do as we say._

_Take care._

_Pepper Potts_

But Peter wouldn’t be able to help, even if he’d want to. The public still believes Spider-Man tried to stop Stark Industries from selling their weapons to Vulture—and since Spider-Man isn’t an Avenger, no one knows Peter is Spider-Man. So it’s actually a plausible story. 

Spider-Man can’t take Iron Man’s side in public, he’d be under the scrutiny of the public eyes straightaway. And why wouldn’t they assume he wasn’t helping Stark selling the weapons in the first place? There’s no proof.

Oh, well—wrong. There is proof. And it’s all pointing at Tony Stark. The one and only man who would never again sell his tech to criminals.

"Dude, this is so crazy. I’m so sorry," Ned whispers, staring at the TV with wide eyes. It’s their weekly Friday evening movie marathon (they wanted to watch the Alien series again to "blow your cobwebs away, dude") but NewsFront intervened.

"Did Mr. Stark call you again?"

"Nah," Peter sighs for the third time before disrupting Everhart’s smug "–what sadly suggests Stark Industries never left the arms business," with the mute button on his remote. _Sadly_ my ass.

"I don’t think he wants to talk to me right now," is what Peter adds after a few seconds of silence, "I wasn’t there for him. I wasn’t a good friend."

Ned looks at him in disbelief.

"You called Liz’ Dad—and I still can’t believe he’s dead even though I’m not really sad about it, but doesn’t that count as being a good friend?"

"Right," Peter hisses, "but they don’t want me to help. He didn’t even tell me directly, I mean, he did, but-but, I could help, right? I could go to Mexico and, and—you know. Find something. I could do it."

"Man, you really shouldn’t do it though. What about that text from Mrs. Potts? Also, it’s so cool you guys email each other like you were friends or something. I mean, you probably are, but even after everything that happened… it’s still cool," Ned thinks aloud and Peter sighs again.

Then, a small smile appears on his lips.

"You think she’s hot, right?"

Ned blushes.

"She’s really hot. A bit old though, I mean… you know."

Peter laughs at that before he buries his head into his sheets and groans.

"I don’t know what to do, Ned," he whispers, but it’s loud enough for his best friend to make out the words. The big guy snags himself a blue gummy bear and turns it in his hands, looking at the heap of misery that calls itself Peter. Or Spider-Man, sometimes.

"He even canceled the meetings," Peter continues softly.

"You are not allowed to visit him? Dude, that is bad," Ned says, shocked.

"He didn’t say I’m not allowed, but Happy canceled my time at the compound because of the allegations and Mr. Stark is busy anyway, yeah."

Peter chooses not to emerge from the sheets. Probably he chokes to death? A man can dream.

Ned thoughtfully eats a green gummy bear and glances at the TV, where some NewsFront guy interviews random people from the streets. It’s subbed and one man says, ‘I’m glad Stark finally has to pay for his sins.’

"He canceled Peter’s time," he then hums, making his friend moan for the fifth time.

"Yeah. Also speaking in third person about me is weird, Ned."

"But you’re not Peter."

Said Peter raises his head, blinking.

"What?" he makes a face, "Please say you didn’t take pills from strangers again, only because they had Mickey Mouse printed on them."

He half-joked, but...

"Peter, that wasn’t my fault. I honestly thought the guy worked at the candy shop," Ned says dead serious before grabbing the candy bag and holding it out for Peter.

"You’re not only Peter, you’re also Spider-Man. And if you are not allowed to go to Mr. Stark as Spider-Man nor as Peter, go to him as the Infamous Black Spider."

"The Infamous Black Spider?" Peter asks, confused, while slowly fishing for a red bear. He already knows Ned’s idea isn’t exactly something he should do, but as it always is with locked doors your mum told you not to enter: Peter wants to do it anyway.

(He notices ‘Mum’ would be Tony in this metaphor, and nearly flinches.)

Ned smiles proudly.

"Cool name, right? You still have the black suit you got from that pirate guy with the eye? You would be like Black Widow, only more secret, because no one would know your name. You’d be the terror that flaps in the night, man."

"Did you just compare me to Darkwing Duck?"

"No?"

***

Officially, this has been the most boring press conference Tony had to attend to in his entire life. Also: Christine Everhart. Why in the world did he even sleep with her? He’s not ashamed about it, but it’s gross, remembering it now.

And Tony doesn’t like gross things.

"Pep, I’m going to hack into those files, sue me," he shoots, smoothing his collar. The blonde steps up a notch, emerging at his side. They are leaving the building through the second back exit so that hopefully there won’t be another bunch of cameras waiting for them outside. 

"No, you won’t."

"Then Jarvis is hacking into those files. Sue him. Ever sued an AI–"

"No one will hack into–"

"–because how would you sue an AI, of course, you could–"

"any"

"sue the owner"

"files."

"but no one knows Jarvis, hell no one owns Jarv and those idiots out there wouldn’t even–"

"Tony."

"know an AI if it fell on their little, empty heads. Hey, ever imagined not having an IQ at 178? I mean that’s mine and I don’t know yours and in the end, IQ tests are like trying to analyze intelligence by measuring the brain with a broken tape-"

"Tony, just shut up."

"You sayin’ that a lot lately, are you stressed? Hope everything’s well with—what was his name... "

"YES. I am stressed."

"Jesus, Pep," he stares at her for a moment.

"Don’t you Pep me, Tony. You can have fun and all, but I need to run a company which just got sued by the government for arms trafficking, I—I am honestly out of my depth here and I don’t need you to make it ANY worse," she says sternly, gripping the stack of folders in her arms slightly tighter.

Tony lifts his hands in peace and nods.

"Ok ok, I won’t hack them. But we need to know where they are from. You with me, right? These are the most professional fake documents I’ve ever seen. Probably even I couldn’t do it better," he thinks for a moment, then sighs, "Well, let’s hope I could, otherwise we are in trouble."

They reach the exit where—thank fucking god—no interviewer or cameras are waiting for them. Tony wasn’t so sure he could still trust himself with being nice and shiny for the public, not after the press conference _and_ Peter’s five-day-long silence.

(Tony didn’t text him too, but he was the last one sending messages, wasn’t he? It’s not his fault, it’s Peter’s turn. Which isn’t a childish thought, it’s just like the world rolls.)

Pepper and Happy walk straight to the black e-Tron Audi, two other bodyguards go for the black Mercedes standing behind it.

"Yes, we need to know. And I have a plan that does not involve hacking the government."

"Send me a message."

"What? No, I’m talking to you right now." she flinches when the red-golden-ish race car explodes from the streets, only a few seconds later stopping smoothly in front of Tony.

It’s the Tin Boy, the fastest driverless streetcar in the world. And Tony designed it. Also, it’s not in production; this here is the only model.

"God, Tony," Pepper hisses, very annoyed, when he gets into his car, winking through the open window, "Message me, would ya?" And off he goes.

"I hate him," Pepper tells the silence matter-of-factly. Happy shrugs after a few seconds, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I’d like to have that car."

***

The Tin Boy is not just a car. It isn’t, because wouldn’t it be awfully dull to design a car just to drive? 

"Hey, buddy, what’s up? How about you give me these files you hacked?" Tony activates the holographic interfaces with a wink. The whole interior of the car lights up; interfaces, displays, time, a map, the CNN news channel, some projects he worked on, and—the files. Meanwhile, the windows of the car darken to the deepest black.

"With pleasure, Sir. May I remark you excelled yourself by designing your new car?"

"You like it, huh? I knew you were an adrenaline junkie."

"I fear I come after you, Sir."

The car speeds up, just enough to be noticeable.

"My sympathies," Tony arranges the holographic files, stops and grabs one: it’s a shady contract Stark Industries seemingly signed with a Mexican enterprise he never even heard of. The next one is a contract with a politician from Saudi Arabia who paid an enormous amount of money for alien tech Tony never sold to anyone. Next is a list of transactions between Stark Industries and several, equally shady, companies around the world—all on the quiet, arms trafficking in its glory.

"Jarvis, did you look for flaws, abnormalities?" Tony asks.

"Of course, Sir. What is most distinctive about the files, though, is its flawlessness."

Tony sighs.

"That’s …—wait," he stops, examining another contract, extending the small print area.

"Hm. Does this sound familiar to you?" he taps the sentences with his finger.

"Indeed."

"Always read the small print, Jarvis. Still got Obadiah’s private files on the server?"

Star Industries former second-in-command Obadiah Stane nearly pried the company out of Tony’s hands. But he’s dead now. In fact, he died a long time ago, so this is strange. 

Tony doesn’t need to go through Obadiah’s files for long, there are many very similar contracts and transactions. Not the same obviously, but he could swear—oh, there it is:

"Jarv, compare the small print areas."

It only takes seconds.

"They are the same, Sir. Which is odd, because we changed it in 2011."

"Bingo."

"Very smart of you, Sir. I’ll send Mrs. Potts the files. Should I add an apology since you didn’t follow her advice?"

"You think she’d still be upset? I’m damn well saving the company. Again."

Jarvis answers with accusatory silence. Tony groans.

"Fine. Be nice. Whatever."

"As you say, Sir."

The good thing about saving the company is that now Tony can focus on more important things. He asks Jarvis to check for security breaches in case someone got Obadiah’s files through the Stark servers—Tony’s sure that’s impossible, but you never know—and then he opens his WhatsApp chat with Peter Parker.

He only had one whiskey before the press conference, so he’s definitely safe.

"Okay, I need your help, Jarv," he breathes deeply, making himself more comfortable on the seat, "Did I do anything wrong here?"

He scans the last messages, which were a) ‘Just call me Tony.’ and then b) ‘End of story’. Peter never answered to this, and it’s a week now.

"He’s not in trouble, is he? Check his vitals. He’s wearing the watch, right?"

"Mr. Parker enjoys remarkable good health for a 21-year-old man."

"Wait, when did he turn 21?"

"His last birthday-"

"Whatever. Why didn’t he answer?"

"May I suggest something?" Jarvis asks it softly.

"Shoot."

"It seems Mr. Parker cultivated a habit of calling you ‘Sir’. It might have upset him to hear you want him to call you Tony. Besides, your last message indicated that it annoyed you."

"Dammit," Tony mutters to himself, "I wasn’t annoyed. I am not annoyed. What is it with the kid, Jarvis? He can call me what he wants, just not that. What’s wrong with Tony? It’s my name. He can call me by my name. Why is he fussing about it?"

"In fact, I have a few theories."

"Oh yeah? Good. Why can’t I remember hearing them already? Is it amnesia?"

Jarvis answers by playing a video file he recorded two weeks ago. Unfortunately, the billionaire remembers the situation, and it wasn’t exactly one of his brightest moments.

"Jarvis? Can I have a coffee, please? Black, without milk," Peter’s voice fills the car, polite as always.

"Catch me one too, would ya, kid?" Tony calls from his workstation. He remembers not even looking up then.

"Jarvis?" Peter asks after putting another mug in front of the coffee machine, the AI replying immediately. "I’ll see to it, Peter."

There’s the sound of the coffee machine grinding the beans before two mugs get filled up at once.

"Thank you, Mr. Jarvis." Peter sounds pleased when he takes both mugs to carry them over. He remembers looking up finally, taking the boy in who wouldn’t hand him the coffee but put it on his workstation.

Like the good boy he is.

"Here you go, Sir."

Tony remembers himself smiling.

"Good boy."

Only when he grabs the coffee mug it hits him, he freezes and stares at Peter who stares back, blinking. Then—Peter blushes. Hard. Tony feels the heavy silence through the speakers, he even gets fucking goosebumps. Again. 

For a full minute, nothing happens. And everything else, too. 

Then, Peter clears his throat in an awkward-adorable way and says "Yeah." before turning to his workstation and—Tony stops the video, throwing the holographic image with his hand away.

"I made a mistake. And I’m going to disassemble the thing, repair the wire, and piece it back together. It’s what I’ve always done and I won’t stop now," he says gravely, getting back an "If you say so." from Jarvis.

"However, Sir. Someone once said that what cannot be repaired is not to be regretted."

Tony doesn’t answer this time.

***

_Sunday evening. Six days after Tony's last messages._

Peter can’t believe he’s really doing this. First, because it’s nuts. Second, because it’s nuts and stupid. He should’ve never listened to Ned. He should just text Tony—or call him, for all he cares.

And while he’s at it, he should also forget about everything. Like Tony said. And here you go, Peter does even call him Tony now. Sure thing. They would pretend no one ever said anything; they would pretend nothing ever happened—and you know what’s so funny about them pretending nothing happened? They wouldn’t even need to pretend, because nothing happened. Ha. Haha.

Peter feels like the hormone-driven wreck he probably is, and he hates it. What’s more, the whole situation reminds him of the _Oh hey, Spider-Man could come to the party and say Hi_ -Incident, which was equally childish and stupid. And it was also Ned's idea, for the record. Thank god he never crashed the party. But what does it matter if he’s now going to crash Tony? Or crash the friendship they had, that is.

"Karen, tell me I’m stupid," he asks his KI, which he probably shouldn’t do because remember BABY PROTOCOL, but.

He needs someone to talk to, ok? He’s hanging upside down from an oak tree branch in the middle of the night and he observes the compound which is just a few hundred meters away—Tony is just a few hundred meters away, and Peter is scared.

"You are not stupid, Peter," Karen answers into his ear. The AI is not part of his black suit, but thanks to his enhanced spider hearing he can talk to her nearly soundless voice crawling out of the Spider Watch Tony gave him a few months ago. It’s nice.

"Yea, you just say that," he pouts quietly.

"I don’t just say things, Peter. You are a very brave and very kind man. You should be proud of yourself."

He pauses, already feeling better. "Aw, thank you."

"You’re welcome."

He smiles when suddenly a light appears inside the compound. Of course, it’s not dark in there at all—there are several bright rooms, but Peter knows where Tony sleeps and wow, that right there was probably the most inappropriate thought he ever had about his-

His friend. Well.

"Do you think it’s a mistake?" he pops the next question. 

Karen doesn’t answer right away but eventually says, "I suppose you wanted to talk to him. And since you are already where you want to be, why not give it a try?"

"You mean I should just go for it? Don’t you think he’ll be mad? Because it’s stupid, I mean—I thought, like … like it would be better to talk to him in person, you know? Also, I didn’t see him for like ages and I just- Oh, I just wanted to see him but it’s stupid because if someone sees us, we are in trouble and then it’s my fault."

"Peter," Karen says softly, "you should follow your heart. I wouldn’t be mad at you just because you wanted to see me."

"Karen?"

"Yes, Peter?" 

"I sometimes really can’t believe you are not human."

"I am very pleased to hear that."

He finally draws a deep breath, his eyes and senses focusing on Tony Stark’s quarters, ready to somehow sneak in there. 

Then the room explodes.

.

Peter breathes. His heart beats again. He blinks. His thoughts come back. _Tony won’t heal._

_Tony won’t heal._

He jumps, runs; there’s smoke and a crackling sound, so so quiet, and there’s the piiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiep inside his ears: If Tony wasn’t in his suit, he won’t ever heal. 

Peter swings through the window, there’s no thinking anymore—only movement. He walks through the fire, but he knows the suit will take it, he knows, and even if not, it wouldn’t matter.

There might be voices.

The fire grins feverishly around him, licking his legs and hips and making it quite hard to sense him, whereisHE, hecan’tbeDEADright. Peter blinks when the noise comes crashing back—and there he is.

He grabs the burning table and throws it away, feeling nothing. It’s not Tony underneath but Iron Man, and Peter wants to cry butheCAN’Tfeel as he gets down on his knees and softly places his arms around the man, lifts with his legs and carries him through the broken room, the broken window, and puts him down on the grass outside.

"Mr. Stark?" he asks, and there’s nothing, only silence, and blackness, but then there is also everything else. The voices.

"LAST WARNING!"

"I SHOOT! STAY DOWN! PUT YOUR HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD!"

"SHOOT HIM! SHOOT HIM!"

"Peter, do you hear me? Talk to me, Peter—it’s Karen. You may experience symptoms of an acute stress reaction. Can you follow my voice? Peter?"

Two of the security guards surrounding Tony and Peter shoot at him, but the bullets just recoil from the Iron Man armor which moved in front of Peter. 

"Stop right there," Tony commands, suddenly on his feet. The mask over his head disappears, revealing the very authoritative glance he casts around.

"It’s Spider-Man, you idiots."

_He’s alive._

The security guards look at each other and one guy swears before everyone lowers their weapons, staring in shock at Iron Man, Peter, and the still-burning building.

_He’s alive._

It’s not the whole compound which exploded—only one room. Only the room Tonys was in.

_He’s alive._

_"_ Are you alright?" Tony looks at him, his hands on his shoulders like he needs not only to hear but also to feel that Peter is, in fact, alright.

"Y-yeah, a-are you, I mean, you just-"

_He’s not dead._

"Breathe," Tonys says and even smiles a little, but it’s sad and many other things Peter wouldn’t be able to put a name on, "I’m okay. Thank you."

"Yes, o-okay, right, you’re welcome." Peter thinks he’s drowning in relief, even when the mask appears again in front of Tony’s face. He lets go of him—Peter still feels the touch—and gives orders to the guards before rocketing upwards and flying to the compound.

Peter watches a moment as Tony extinguishes the fire with something like—does he really got sodium bicarbonate inside his suit?!

"You don’t look like the Spider-Guy," one guard declares and Peter frowns at them, slowly finding his way back to his usual self.

"Spider-Man," he corrects automatically, and another guy nods.

"It’s him. I heard him talk like a kid on TV."

"What? I’m not a kid. I mean, come on?" he points at himself like his body and suit would prove his very mature existence. He still feels raw though, which is why he’s relieved to see Happy running towards them from the main entrance of the compound, only wearing shorts, a long t-shirt (it’s Beyoncé, believe it or not), and a dressing gown.

"Never saw you here before. Isn’t that strange?" the ‘heard him talk like a kid’-guard says then, regarding Peter intently.

"And why the black clothes? You never wear black clothes. It’s like you didn’t want us to see you."

"And then the explosion. Strange, isn’t it?" the other guy adds.

"Thank god, nothing happened."

"What a coincidence you were there at the right moment."

"Uh," is all Peter can think of as a response—he’s still in shock—before Happy arrives, panting, "What the- what happened? Tony?"

"He’s fine, I mean, I think he is," Peter answers, glad about the distraction. That’s the moment Iron Man lands next to him in the grass.

"You, you and you," Tony points at the guards, "Go somewhere else. Hey, what are you waiting for?"

They look at each other before hurrying away, leaving Peter and the _What-a-coincidence_ alone, thank god. Or rather: thank Tony.

"Tony, god, what happened? And what’s the boy doing here, fuck, did you—were you _in there_ when it blew up?" Happy looks shocked, scared.

"I was in there, but yes, I’m fine." Tony watches Peter for a moment. "Thanks to Peter."

"Oh I," Peter starts, but Happy interrupts him.

"Shit. SHIT, who attacked you?" 

"Jarvis looks into it. But whoever is responsible for this isn’t here anymore," Tony says grimly.

"And the boy?"

"The boy is coming with me. Now."

What doesn’t sound alarming at all, but who is Peter to oppose the great Tony Stark?


	6. Die In Your Sins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Tony talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just finished chapter 15 and oh boy, that's definitely not the end. Therefore I changed the final number of chapters to 21, but it's still just a wildcard. Be aware there's a lot more to come! Also, things will get more intimate soon. Very soon.

Peter didn’t wonder why Tony stayed in the suit for that long. But he should’ve. 

When they arrive in the workshop, the Iron Man suit leaves the man part by part, flying away in different directions. And there’s Tony—obviously—in jeans and a black tank top.

A bloody black tank top.

"Oh my god," is all Peter says before he rips his mask away and sprints to him, only stopping when a hand meets his chest, soft but firm. 

"It’s nothing," Tony says, a little strained, head and body turned away. He takes another step to one of the workstations. Then, he supports himself on the table and there is nothing Peter wants more than to help. 

But Tony doesn’t want him to. _It didn’t look like nothing_. 

Peter doesn’t move, heart hammering with fear and stress. Of course even Tony Stark can’t deny the possibility of getting hurt; the suit wasn’t there from the beginning. Peter should’ve known. 

"How bad is it?" he asks quietly, not moving.

"Jarvis."

Tony doesn’t look at him. He wanted Peter to be here, not Happy, not a doctor—what would’ve been a better choice, let’s face it.

"Mr. Stark suffered several minor injuries before the Iron Man Armour arrived. After the grenade detonated-" 

"It was a grenade?" Peter asks, feeling like he can’t breathe deep enough. A grenade means an assault, and an assault means …

It means it wasn’t an accident. 

"Yes, Peter," Jarvis agrees before the holographic image of the grenade appears, slowly rotating. Peter stares at it.

"Zoom, Jarvis," Tony says after a few secs, his hand hovering inches above the fabric of the tank top; not touching nor looking when the bright image of the grenade gets bigger, revealing two more things. 

The first one should surprise Peter but surprisingly doesn’t. It’s the Stark Industries logo. 

The second one does surprise Peter by telling him exactly why he wasn’t surprised to begin with. It’s a sentence written in screaming-red color, a chaotic and smudgy and ugly ‘DIE IN YOUR SINS’ smeared over the outer casing of the grenade. 

"Well, seems I have fans, doesn’t it, Pete? Whatcha think they want? An autograph? I can give them-," Tony groans as he shifts, he stumbles to the medical station Peter always wondered what Tony would need it for. 

"Mr. Stark," Peter says softly while following him to the swivel stool he hauled next to the station before lowering himself onto it.

"I can give them an autograph. Hell, I’ll even say cheese when I smile for their-," he pauses, "probably a very pitiful Instagram thing."

"Sir-" 

"Nah. We talked about that, didn’t we? At least I talked about it and you didn’t seem to feel like texting back." 

Tony looks at him now. It’s the first time their eyes meet since they entered the room, and Peter feels the weight of it. His instinct is to look away, which is always his instinct, especially with Tony. 

He doesn’t though. He never does. 

"You’re hurt. I–tell me what to do. How to help. How bad is it? Jarvis, what do I have to do?" Peter asks the AI when Tony doesn’t answer right away. 

"Would you like me to give you step-by-step instructions for medical treatment, Mr. Parker?" Jarvis’ voice is kind and Peter is already nodding hastily.

"Yesyes-"

"No," Tony interject, unsuccessfully. 

"First, please clean your hands."

"No! What is this? When did you two conspire against me? I don’t need help, I need a fucking-"

He tries to stand up, freezes, and groans again, prompting Peter to close the distance and help Tony back into the chair. What doesn’t go as planned when Peter realizes he is touching Tony Stark, and he let’s go so fast he nearly stumbles. Tony doesn’t react to that, but says instead:

"Oh-fucking-kay, I need help. Absolutely fantastic. Peter?"

"Yes, Sir?" 

It slipped out of his mouth.

"The first step is to give me an exceptionally full glass of whiskey."

"That is not the first step of giving medical treatment," Jarvis adds helpfully.

"Don’t trust him, Peter. He conspired against me, the two-timer. I’m going to reprogram him anyway," is what Tony thinks out loud, and yes, Peter finally has to smile at that—despite everything that went to shit over the last thirty minutes. And before that.

He doesn’t hesitate and reaches for the liquor, which is neatly placed on a shelf on the other side of the room.

It’s then when it happens. Again.

"Yea, good bo- for fuck’s sake, good. Good. Very fucking good," Tony corrects himself gravely after a second. 

Okay: _Nearly_ happens. 

There’s the frosty glass of whiskey Peter just poured for Mr. Stark in one hand and the bottle in the other, when he turns around and peers. 

No. He stares. He wouldn’t be able not to, heart suddenly active again, hammering unrelenting in his chest. His mouth becomes as dry as the drink for Mr. Stark should be, and he can’t move. Or think. But to be fair, thinking was clearly invented for different situations.

Mr. Stark looks like he would happily bite his own tongue off. He still said it, complete phrasing or not. He called him something he never said to anyone Peter knows, ever. 

No one else but him. And, like MJ suggested, probably other people Peter does not know and hopes to never get to know if he’s honest. 

Mr. Stark clears his throat. It nearly makes Peter jump.

"So. This is awkward. And I have two questions for you, kid. Why does it seem like you do this," he gestures between himself and Peter, "on purpose? And where’s my drink? Oh, actually I have a lot more questions, like what the fuck are you doing here—in the middle of the night—and why are you wearing this abominable black thing SHIELD knitted together? Don’t be shy and please start with the whiskey."

Peter processes everything for two seconds before he surrenders, hurrying to the still very injured Tony to hand him his drink. He takes it without hesitation.

"I’m not a kid," Peter then says, because that is the only response he can currently think of.

Also, it is likely the only important response he can give Tony.

"You are 21."

His voice is hard and Peter turns away to head for the sink; he needs to clean his hands to help Tony. To prove he is, in fact, capable of helping.

"Peter."

It’s softer. What doesn’t change the fact that Peter slowly senses desperation creeping up his stomach. He tries to ignore it. 

"Which means I am not a kid, but anyway. Look, I-" He turns the tap on, takes the soap, and washes. Turns the tap off. "I know it was crazy to come here, I know. I just needed to—I wanted to talk to you, I mean, you canceled our meetings, and I know why, I get it. But-" 

"But?"

Peter doesn’t want to turn around but turns anyway, not looking up at Tony when he closes the distance, not looking up when he gets on his knees right in front of the man, his eyes focusing on the dark red spot soaking into Tony’s tank top. 

A tank top. Peter needs to not lose it right now. 

"I’m glad I came here," Peter continues, swallows, and finally looks up, his heart running like a racehorse. When exactly did he get so reckless? He doesn’t remember anymore, but he remembers the look on Tony’s face when he first called him a good boy. 

Peter might not be the most experienced nor someone with exceptionally great self-confidence, but he can use his eyes. And his brains. He’s not a fool. He’s definitely not a kid. 

"I-I thought, I—for a moment, I thought you were," he stops, swallows again, and then loses himself in the deep dark brown that are Tony’s eyes.

"Can I?" he gestures at the tank top, fingers a little shaky. "Please."

Tony nods after what felt like a decade, and the relief flooding Peter’s veins is endless. His own breath is too loud inside his ears and there’s a heavy gaze following his every movement as he tentatively takes the hemline of the tank top and rolls it up, uncovering a thick six-inches-long cut at his waist. 

It’s bleeding. 

"Ooh—oh shit, oh shit," Peter murmurs, getting a sigh back from Tony.

"Very encouraging. Keep it up, Dr. Parker." 

"Uh, sorry, it’s just. Jarvis? How deep is it?"

He is definitely not panicking. Also, Tony should see a proper doctor or someone like … 

"Is Dr. Banner currently located at the compound?" 

"Unfortunately not, Peter. The injury you are looking at is half an inch deep. I would suggest to stitch it up with a sterilized needle."

Peter pales while eyeing the wound, then looks up at Tony, who doesn’t have a joke ready this time. At least not a full-grown joke:

"Ok ok, we don’t do stitching here, we are not a pair of old ladies, alright? I have a better idea," Tony says, swallowing, "Though everything would be a better idea. No offense." 

"Nononono, it’s ok, I mean, I’d do it, but I-I would probably kill you, so yeah."

"For the record, I think you’d still be a better shot than Dum-E."

Dum-E’s "Uuuii?" flows through the room, sad and ending with just an edge of hope, like he’s still expecting a treat coming his way. 

Well. 

Peter can’t help it, he giggles, and it feels desperate and free and warm, and even warmer when he sees Tony smile, just like that. 

"Sorry, sorry, I’m so—God, I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I’m laughing, I—please have a better idea, please Mr. Stark, I think I’m panicking right now." Peter tries to get hold of himself by pressing his hand over his mouth and it works. Kind of. 

He’s still out of breath when Tony explains where exactly Peter can find their solution. It’s inside the second drawer from the top of Tony’s workstation.

"If this is a dermal regenerator, I am going to faint," Peter points out when he hands Tony the small device and sits next to his feet. He doesn’t even think of getting himself a chair, but so doesn’t Tony as he casts him an impressed glance before giving the _dermal-regenerator-what-the-hell_ back to him. 

"Since you are sitting, I think I’m allowed to say, yes, it is. At least kind of. But not like in Star Trek," he smiles and Peter smiles back because of course, Tony would get the reference. "It’s a nanotech sealant for the human skin. Pretty simple. I always wanted to test it, and oh look what we have here: the perfect moment for making history."

Peter cautiously turns the sealant syringe in his hands, looking equally awed and hesitant. 

"You didn’t test it before?" he asks finally, raising his head, and no, he doesn’t like the sound of that. At all. 

"I invented it. It works, no need to test-," Tony moans painfully and Peter gets on his knees so he can face the wound directly, ready to use the dermal regenerator (he’ll call it like that, no one can stop him), "-it. Bloody hell, that hurts." 

"May I add Sir, your inventions failed 10.122 times since my activation," Jarvis interject politely.

"Thank you, Jarvis. A real sunshine you are." Tony sighs before looking directly into Peter’s eyes, and oh boy, he couldn’t say no to whatever the man asks of him even if he wanted to. Which he doesn’t. 

"Do it."

"I-"

"Look at me."

Peter looks.

"Trust me. You’ll do perfectly. Don’t make me do it by myself, I don’t really feel like bending over to watch it tear open—actually, he, let’s not talk about that."

Peter swallows, and he really wants to be the guy who thinks about his actions; someone who questions an untested device and never uses it to treat actual injuries. But.

But then he’s already using the dermal regenerator. Because he trusts Tony. Also, the encouragement and the commanding tone Tony used may have nudged Peter in the right direction.

"Does it hurt?" the young boy asks the moment he observes the transparent sealant touching Tony’s skin, slowly crawling inside the dark red streak bleeding over Tony’s hip. He changes between staring at the wound and looking into Tony’s eyes, his own wide open and scared.

"No. I added local anesthesia."

"Oh."

"And the same tissue repairing nanites I integrated into your and my suit. It’s pretty safe, I’d say."

"Oh."

Right. Of course Tony added anesthesia. And the nanites. Peter learned a lot about them over the last few years, Tony always the patient and encouraging teacher every student would wish for. 

He should’ve thought of the nanites.

"Yes, _oh._ " Tony follows Peter's movements with his eyes as he finishes to apply the sealant. It disappears into the cut, somehow cleaning the rims of it so that what remains is only a wispy red line framed with skin and more dried blood. It stopped bleeding by now. 

"Okay, that’s better, so much better. Thank you. Again, I should say." Tony tries to sit up a little, and this time he doesn’t groan and there’s no more blood dripping out of his body. Thank fucking god. 

"Are you- is it good? Is it still, I mean, you need a bandage?" 

"No, thanks. It’s good. You did well. The base of the sealant should operate like a bandage. Only without the looks of it. And breathe, please."

"Wha-what d’you mean?" 

"You are hyperventilating."

He is. Peter sits up and puts the dermal regenerator aside, pressing his hand over his nose and mouth, breathing.

In. 

And Out.

Breathing shouldn’t be a challenge and still, it’s the second time in a few hours Peter’s lungs show him the middle finger.

"That’s right. In—and out. Slower. Hey, look at me, kid," he does, he does, _he does_. 

"Right. You did perfectly. In. Don’t worry. I’m fine. We are fine. And out. Yeah, you got it."

His breath steadies, Tony’s brown eyes drown the fear, the violent pounding of his heart. Peter wonders how he’s doing it, how he can look someone in the eye, and make them feel it so much that _they couldn’t feel anything else—nothing but the sensation of being looked at by Tony Stark._

He’ll never get an answer because he doesn’t ask it out loud. Instead, he blushes slightly, and he wants to hide it by turning his head, but Tony said _look at me._

Then it’s over and Tony asks the silent room, "Jarvis, what time is it?"

Peter feels like they’ve been here forever. 

"11.43 pm, Sir."

"Alright, that’s late enough." Tony gets on his feet, slowly, before he gives Peter a warm hand to help him stand up.

"You can sleep in one of the guest rooms. Everything you need is there. Toothbrush, soap, shampoo-things, P.J.’s, and Jarvis of course, there’s a holopad you can use to play with Jarv or work on your designs, or how about JarvChess, you even like chess? Anyway, you can play against him to tire that smart brain of yours out, or any other game you can think of. There are probably more than I remember throwing in. You can call me if there is anything, just give Jarvis a thumbs-up; I mean, is there anything? Guess you’re tired. Happy is driving you back tomorrow, give me the time and _whoop_ , back at home, back to school with your little friends. Tell Michelle I said _hi_."

Tony has his back turned to Peter, absentmindedly skimming along the bloodstain on his tank top with his fingers before brushing through his hair. He probably doesn’t even notice. 

"Don’t you have a math test tomorrow, or something?"

"You remember that?" Peter asks tentatively. 

"Hell yes, genius and all? Also, the clock’s ticking, the door is there. Bedtime. We don’t want you to sleep through abstract algebra, do we." He turns around and leans against his workstation, perfectly composed and definitely not looking like someone who just got attacked.

"Jarvis will show you the way, you know how it works."

Peter doesn’t move, and Tony crosses his arms. This time, though, the boy doesn’t miss it again. The trembling hands, that is. 

"What about the attack?" Peter _is_ unbelievably tired, but he couldn’t make himself go, let alone sleep if he isn’t one hundred percent sure Tony is safe. And even if he’s safe (what, in fact, may not be the case, since the attacker passed a fucking _grenade_ through Tony’s security systems) Peter needs to make sure he is alright.

Tony doesn’t seem alright. And Peter isn’t alright, too. So that’s that. 

"I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again." Tony says it sternly, almost without emotion. That’s fear, isn’t it?, Peter thinks, blinking. 

"What about you? You need to see a doctor, a proper specialist." 

"I’ll take care of that too. Come on, I’m tired-" 

"What about–what about…?" He gestures between them as Tony did before, heart leaping with fear, stress, anticipation and a strange boldness his overstimulated mind vomits into his mouth. 

"What about what?" Tony must know, Peter thinks. He feels a headache crawling over his face. 

"Are you mad because I don’t call you Tony?" He swallows, his clammy hands rubbing over his trousers, a strained smile on his lips. Not the right time to ask, Peter knows. But Tony is going to throw him out tomorrow, he feels it and he can’t have it. Not without talking to him before.

"And thank you for-for, for helping me, for calming me, it gets- sometimes I have-"

"Panic attacks?"

"Yes. Are you mad?"

Tony smiles lightly.

"No, of course not. It’s kind of weird, but you do what you do."

He shrugs. Peter sweats.

"Yeah, right. Do you remember when you gave me the watch?" He points at it, his fingers are trembling.

"Course I do. What’s your point? Are we discussing good old memories now?"

His smile stays in the corners of his mouth, kind.

"You asked if I’d like you to tell me what to wear with it. I’d like to."

Tony averts his eyes but only a second. Still smiling.

"I don’t understand."

"You do." And at that, the false smile of his finally crumbles. Meanwhile, Peter not only feels like he’s overstepping every mark he ever saw hovering in the dangerous distance but also as if he’s going to lose something, anything, everything? He wants to stop, but he can’t and he really doesn’t know why.

It’s like he’s high with fear and adrenaline and power, and _it’s not bad_ _at all._

Tony opens his mouth, looks away, and closes it again, apparently speechless.

 _Got you_.

He takes one step forward and drops his gaze.

"Would you?"

Then it dawns on him he’s asking Tony to basically define his whole clothing style since he’s always wearing the watch, and oh god. When and why did he lose control of everything again? When did the Peter inside his head decide that hell yeah, Tony definitely wants to use his precious time to think about Peter’s bloody wardrobe?

"You don’t know what you are asking."

"But I do."

No, he probably doesn’t.

"Then tell me."

A beat.

"I-" He hesitates.

"See."

"Wait, that’s not fair, I fully understand-"

"No, you don’t. You understand shit. I’m sorry, Peter, but you think this is fair?"

"I-"

"No."

Tony’s authoritative voice slams again like a hammer, and he isn’t even shouting.

"This is me speaking. I have no idea where you picked that up, why you think you should ask me of all people to do this, and I get it. You thought I might—but I don’t, and I am utterly sorry if I ever behaved in that way, and we both know what I mean."

_What?_

"You can ask me what you want if you’re—look, if you’re interested in that kind of thing, we can talk about it. I’ll be happy to give you advice, hell, I even give you a list of websites that are way better than me in answering your questions. Just make sure you stay safe, and à propos staying safe, giving away control so easily is one of the most foolish things I’ve ever seen you do."

_I didn’t._

"I could’ve done anything. Make you do things you don’t want to do. Make you wear things you don’t like. You want that? You think that’s what it is about?"

_But you wouldn’t have._

_"_ I may not be a stranger, but you don’t know this side of me, do you? And you just offered me a part of your freedom, of what makes you you."

_Stop._

"I’m not saying this to hurt you-"

He leaves through the door, but as soon as he gets out of the building, he doesn’t hesitate and uses his webs to swing himself senseless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a plan. And this chapter smelled it, took it with a bite, and chewed it until nothing of the said plan remained. But I’ll make up for it, I promise.


	7. The Day After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter forgets his algebra exam.

Peter crashes into the sheets. Cold sweat is itching his neck, tickling the damp skin on his back. The suit doesn’t fit anymore, and he starts fighting it, crawling out of the top to throw it away, away, away from him.

_ This is me speaking. _

He feels lost when his thoughts wander through his body, between his legs; he feels shy and young and ashamed but also reckless. And he turns over onto his stomach, hitting the mattress with the bulge hidden inside the black trousers. Pushes.

_ I’ll make sure you stay safe. _

It’s humiliating. He wants Tony to know in a sick kind of way, imagines him standing right there in front of his bed, or tracking his vitals with the watch—oh god, he could do that, right? The man could violate his privacy all the time, he wouldn’t know, he wouldn’t notice, he wouldn’t _ mind. _

_ I could’ve done anything. Make you do things you don’t want to do. _

Peter knows it’s not right, and he wants to kiss Tony softly, wants to be saved, but sometimes being saved means not be safe, means to be where the monsters wait. They would lead him inside their dark, dark home, and no one could hurt him ever again. He slips off his trousers, rubbing the head of his cock against the rough bedsheets.

_ Giving away control so easily is one of the most foolish things I’ve ever seen you do. _

"’M sorry,’’ he whispers, hidden in the darkness of his room, shaking his head as the shame washes over him, heating his body to one hundred degrees. It’s damp skin against his fingers when he feels his hip, it’s fascinating and warm and good and he thinks this could be him. He thinks, why am I like that? He thinks, please.

_ Is one of the most foolish things I’ve ever seen you do. _

_ No. _

He is touching himself.

_ This is me speaking. _

_ Make you do things you don’t want to do. _

He’s–

_ Anything. _

_ Anything. _

Peter comes so hard, he chokes.

_ *** _

_ Monday morning.  _

"Dude, you look like shit," is what Ned says the next day when they meet at the entrance of the Empire State University, twenty minutes before their Modern Algebra course starts. It’s one of the few classes they are both enrolled in, which makes it one of Peter’s favorite courses this semester—although Ned is way better at algebra than him.

Today, though, Peter would rather be alone. For obvious reasons, and number one of them: The now denied possibility to wallow in his own ocean of self-pity and shame, seasoned with thought spirals of Tony rejecting him. Occasionally he would even look at his phone to insure himself that yes, Tony did text him.

‘ _ I am sorry about what I said. _ ’

and

‘ _ Talk? _ ’

Peter didn’t text back. Yet.

He sighs.

"Thanks," he answers Ned, not looking up as they walk into the building.

"What happened? Oh my god, did you do the Black Spider thing? Did you have sex?" Of course, the good thing about Ned is he’ll always find a way to shock Peter out of his mood, of any kind whatsoever.

"N-no?" Peter is blushing, but then he goes pale again.

"Like, definitely not. Uh, let’s not talk about it, please?"

He can’t. It’s too much of a mess; drowning him with every chaotic thought of it, of everything he said and did, of everything he wouldn’t be able to take back as if it had never happened.

Now Tony knows. And then, the things he did afterward at home, he can’t-

He doesn’t understand half of it, and he definitely won’t be able to explain it to Ned. Or to anyone else. Anyone but Tony, maybe.

"Oh. Okay. But, uh." Ned follows him into the classroom, throwing his backpack onto the table in front of his seat, next to Peter. 

"He didn’t, like, you know," Ned lowers his voice, "do something old dudes sometimes do to young dudes?"

"What? Ned, no, I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean." He catches himself shouting, stops, and looks around, mortified. The other students in the room are nice enough to look back at Peter, pointedly. Peter hates everything, and he punishes his best friend by doing the ‘What the fuck man?’-thing with his eyebrows.

Ned raises his hands in peace, looks around too, and bends to Peter so he can whisper discreetly:

"Sorry, it’s just—you really don’t look good, like you didn’t sleep at all last night. But not for the good reasons, you know what I mean? I’m worried about you, dude."

"Just don’t," Peter pouts, sitting down. But then he sighs, "Okay, fine. I’ll tell you. Just give me a day." One single day of peace.

"Okay, cool. And Peter?"

"Hm."

"It will be fine. Love always finds its way."

"Oh, my god."

Peter burrows his head in his arms and  _ sighs _ again. There’s a smile tucking at his lips, only then vanishing as he realizes that of course he forgot the damn algebra exam.

***

_ Monday evening. _

There’s no sound when Tony waves his hand and ends the call. Still, the silence afterward seems loud, only that you can’t hear it obviously. It’s heavy, pushing; like a disappointed stare and you can’t raise your fucking head and look it in the eye, because you are too scared. You know, you can’t make things right.

Because what again was it, that _right_ thing you should do? Tony doesn’t know anymore. Probably he never knew to begin with.

"Sir?" Jarvis’ voice is soft, and it helps a little.

"Hm." Tony’s voice is hard.

"An incoming call from Mrs. Potts."

Tony waves again to accept it and takes a burning sip out of his whiskey glass, savoring the mild numbness that comes with it. 

"Tony. Are you out of your mind?" is what Pepper asks the moment it quietly  _ clicks _ .

"Hm. Lemme think about it, I mean… it’s all a question of how you define ‘out of your mind’-"

"Why did you hang up on the chief justice? Why on earth would you do that?" She’s pissed.

"There are several reasons, Pep. Here comes number one: He’s a huge dumbass. Number two: Since he and his minions were too stupid to find the proof I found—you know, the proof that we are being framed with poorly done fake documents—I would assume he’ll fall on his knees to thank me for telling him, yes, you are a dumbass, but look, I’ll save you the embarrassment by giving you everything you missed? Number three: He is really a huge dumbass, Pep."

She has to admit that he is a dumbass, right?

"I  _ told _ you, you can’t just hack the files! It’s not 2007 anymore. It’s not- Tony, illegally obtained evidence does not count in court and you know it. You thought they’d make an exception for you, didn’t you?"

Oh yes. Pepper clearly agrees with him on the dumbass-thing. 

"Hell yeah, why not? I’m Tony Stark, I’m Iron Man, I’m fighting the bad guys and when I’m fighting for my own company, that’s my damn fuckin’ right," he tells her with a level voice, focusing on a distant fly sitting on the wall in front of Tony’s workstation. He feels like he didn’t leave the workshop for ages. 

Then, a sudden pang flashes through his hand. He crushed the whiskey glass.

"What was-," Pepper tries.

"Nothing." Tony won’t let her, "Nothing, Pep. Look, you are right, I am wrong, yadda yadda. Let’s make it short: I’m sorry, I’m an idiot. I’ll promise to better myself, and all that stuff, okay? I’ll talk to Mr. Chief Justice League tomorrow. Oh, and I take it back, I’m not an idiot, you can’t be idiot and genius at once."

"Yes, you can, and no, you won’t. Don’t call him like that. He’s been on our side, did you know that? He never believed the documents were real, and now I must call him and make things right. And you won’t talk to him again. Actually, you and your AI’s won’t do anything at all regarding the trial. Got that?"

He doesn’t answer. His hand is bleeding because of the glass he just crushed and he feels tired if he’s honest.

"I’m sorry, Tony. But I’m worried. You haven’t been that bad for… years," there’s a desperate edge to her voice and he can’t bear to listen to that.

"I’m fine. Totally fine. Why wouldn’t I? Someone tried to attack me, and he nearly got me—here, in my home, inside the safest building on earth because I made it safe and of course I’m fucking fine. What about you? How are things going with Aaron?" His name might have been Aaron. In Tony’s opinion, he’s a dumbass too, but—and he admits that with no jealousy—a likable dumbass.

"Stop drinking. I call Bruce." Pepper ends the call, giving the silence in Tony’s workshop enough space to slowly overwhelm everyone that’s in there.

After treating the cuts on his hand and sending Dum-E on a (probably very) adventurous clean-up mission, he leaves the workshop to get some much-needed sleep. Though in the end, he doesn’t sleep—thanks to someone’s exquisite and somewhat disappointed face, always hovering in sight when he closes his eyes.

***

Around 2 am Tony wonders if he should call Janice Cord. Obviously, she’s a submissive, and she’s exactly what he needs right now.

***

_ Tuesday morning. _

The evening before, Peter watched the movie Secretary. Alone.

He’s exhausted. And what’s worse, he woke up aroused again. He knows he dreamed of Tony. It even might have been a mix of Tony and James Spader, and he feels so weird thinking of it.

There’s something inside himself, some other Peter, or a new side of the Peter he thought he knew—MJ was right. Oh, she was right, and he’s fucked. The more he thinks about everything, it all makes sense: He doesn’t like people his age, not like that. Not sexually. And he remembers, when he was 14 years old, he had a crush on his gym teacher. He told no one, and it wasn’t a huge deal. Kids have crushes. It’s normal.

Half a year later he had a new crush on that woman in the supermarket. Stupid thing. She always terrified him. Also, she was like thirty.

After he reached his 15th birthday two things changed: He got his Spider powers and his crush migrated to one of the most powerful men in the USA. It stayed for four fucking years. Meeting and getting to know Tony made it worse. Peter tried to overcome it and some day, he succeeded. He thought, he hoped.

But things changed again and soon enough the itching came back, biting itself a way inside. Like a disease, and it started with a light headache, nothing unusual, and he coughed the next day, but no, it’s nothing unusual, and then his nose got runny and suddenly—but it’s nothing unusual, he’s fine, he’s fine.

Until he wasn’t fine anymore. And he felt it.  _ Oh god, not again _ . But he couldn’t deny it anymore.  _ Shit, it’s that crush again. _

Only that now, after those few months and several  _ incidents _ with Tony, there’s something on his mind. Like an idea. A thought.

What if it wasn’t all on him? What if Tony was in fact acting differently around him? What if the man was triggering something inside him? 

And what if he didn’t even know he’s doing it?

Would that allow Peter to act differently too? Would it allow Peter to trigger something inside Tony which he knows must be there? 

Probably not. But there might be enough ‘probably yes’ inside the ‘probably not’ to motivate Peter to try a scientific experiment. He’s good at science. And also, he thinks, after he waited through a six-year-long rest period, he finally deserves results.

In other words: He’s going to make a huge mistake.

***

"You basically asked him to be your Dom?"

"What is a dom? Is it that Sir thing? That sex thing?"

"It’s a BDSM thing, Ned. The abbreviation ‘Dom’ derives from ‘Dominant’ and Peter would be the ‘Sub’ which derives from ‘Submissive’."

"Wow."

_ Wow.  _ Peter is mortified.

"I didn’t say-," he tries, but Ned interrupts him.

"Peter, look, I know it sounds weird and yeah, but I have to say that: I’m honored to be your friend. Did Mr. Stark say yes? Oh damn, he didn’t, did he? That’s why you look so sad! But I’m sure he wants to say yes. You’re a cool dude. Still weird, the Dom thing. But rich dudes always have a strange sex life, we all know that. And you, well, you are you."

"What’s that supposed to mean?" That’s Peter trying to get back control over the conversation. And why exactly did he think it would be a good idea to be honest with his friends? There’s something like ‘too honest’, isn’t there?

But then he promised Ned to tell him what happened, and MJ already knew—because she always  _ knows _ , in a very mysterious kind of way. 

"Obviously he didn’t say yes. Look at him making that sad face."

"Oh, come on now."

"But you’re not giving up, are you? I know ‘The Look’. Stark’s your monster crush, you couldn’t even give up if you wanted to. And honestly, as wrong as it is—and it is wrong like I said before—Stark probably wants you as much. He’s a selfish bastard after all, and you’re sweet enough to be his type," MJ adds helpfully.

Peter decides to put his head on the table, sadly observing his chances of having an ordinary conversation recede into the distance. All three are sitting at a slightly gross table at one of the university cafeterias, and while explaining the dire situation Peter is in, the sentence ‘ _ asked him to, uh, dom me or something _ ’ might have slipped him and  _ puff!, _ away with the serious discussion, that is his shipwreck of life. Instead, say hello to ‘let’s humiliate our best friend even more, it’s fun!’.

And on top of that, they are not even mad at him for being weird. They act like it’s completely normal to want someone to dom themselves, like the general lack of understanding and the intolerance regarding things like BDSM that grow through society don’t even exist.

Oh. They are okay with it?

Peter looks up to find two pairs of friendly eyes.

"So this means you both are okay with it? With me being, you know, weird?"

At that, MJ smiles. And she doesn’t smile often.

"We are all weird," she says.

"Go get him, tiger," Ned says, and Peter dumps his head down again.

"Please tell me you didn’t say that."

Ned pads his shoulder and despite a desperate and growing sense of capitulation inside his stomach, because no, he won’t regain control over the conversion anytime soon, he smiles. Who could ever argue to have better friends than him?

***

_ Tuesday please be over pm. _

Peter thinks about how to answer Tony. He thinks about his choice of words and he thinks about it until after lunch and then he keeps thinking about it through one and half an hour of Accelerated General Chemistry and then he stops thinking because he feels like overthinking and panicking and oh god, he’s not gonna do that, he’s just saying  _ hey, it’s okay, don’t say you are sorry, let’s just forget what I said. _

Thinking is the enemy. Thinking is the Mind-Killer. Peter also thinks he should stop using movie and/or book quotes to calm himself, but he’s not very lucky with that either.

(Neds continuous wide-eyed glances aren’t helping too.)

(MJs stream of BDSM FAQs and websites and ‘How to be safe’-lists she lets flow through WhatsApp might be of help someday, but not right now.)

(Peter wants to send Tony a spider gif, and he wants to call him Mr. Stark again, and he wants him to not reject him again and he wants to know if he’s right, if MJs is right, he wants him to do all the things that keep eating Peter’s mind, that keep directing his dreams, he wants to make sure Tony is safe, wants to make him feel safe, he  _ wants all of that and more. _ )

So after his Accelerated General Chemistry course he leaves the building, juggling his mobile phone in sheer restlessness before catching it a bit too fast and pushing the call button. Here we go.

Tony answers the phone on the first ring.

"Peter," he says and it’s not even a question. He probably talks through Jarvis with him.

"Yeah- yeah, it’s me," Peter answers, closing his eyes for a moment.  _ Shit, he should have thought about what to say exactly.  _

_ " _ Look. I don’t apologize often, but I’m sorry. I overstepped." He sounds business, but between the words Peter notices something vulnerable, and he wonders if he’s the only one who could hear it. Since his ability to hear is quite good, you might say.

Still, if you asked him, Peter would rather not listen to any apology. It’s nice of Tony, so nice, and he hates it with all his heart. Hardly anything else could show him better how their relationship works. _ You didn’t overstep, Peter wants to say, but since you are talking about it, I’d like you to overstep. How about the next time we meet? _

He’s not brave or stupid enough to utter his thoughts out loud.

"I’m afraid I’m not able to look," he answers instead, smiling a little, and he knows Tony must return the smile somewhere inside the Stark Tower or wherever else he might be right now.

"Funny, Spider-Boy. How about that?"

"How about what?"

Tony answers with a sigh, and Peter waits a few seconds before looking at his screen to make sure Tony didn’t already disconnect.

"WOAH! Have you been there all the time? I’m sure that’s illegal!" he shouts at Tony’s very real and very sexy face before lowering his voice, his eyes searching the phone screen to find out how the man started a video call without Peter’s permission.

"Still cool," he adds, thinking, "And creepy."

It’s a Stark phone so it wouldn’t be that hard for Tony to hack into it.

"You wanted to look, now we are looking. Also, looking really good." That’s the moment Peter stops thinking, because  _ what?  _ Judging by the expression on Tony’s face, he might be thinking the same.

"Uh," Peter doesn’t manage to say more, but fortunately his face answers with a blush. Fuck, Peter thinks.

Meanwhile, Tony recovers from the shock.

"How long do I have to science babble to make you forget what I just said?"

Peter bites his lip and finally smiles.

"I’m not sure my mind works that way."

"Sad. How about that: Star Wars Episode III is the best Star Wars movie out there."

"Oh my  _ god _ , how dare you!"

"I like Donnie Darko 2."

"You don’t, right? Please say you are joking. Otherwise, I have to end the call and never speak to you again."

"It’s good they made four Hobbit movies based on a tiny book."

"That’s torture, Mr. Stark. Also illegal. I’m calling the police."

"Seeing you in court, then. I’ll let Peter Jackson know to come and testify."

Peter gapes.

"Do you know him?"

"Had a drink with him a few years ago. Crazy man," is Tony’s smug answer to that, and yes: Peter might have forgotten Tony’s words by now if they hadn’t been what they are: The first compliment he got from the man that doesn’t scream ‘FRIENDSHIP’.

"Still not forgetting," Peter thinks out loud after a few seconds and smiles again, softer this time. It doesn’t matter now, does it? Tony knows about the crush, he probably knew for a long time and Peter decides to descend into embarrassment another day.

"Didn’t think so."

Tony’s not looking at him and there’s a strange feeling clawing at Peter’s stomach, something like endorphins mixed with fear seasoned with a small heartbreak. It’s exhausting because he felt like that for the past few years, and what if it never stops? One way or another, it has to stop.

"But that’s not why I called. You said talk," Peter plucks up the courage to speak and swallows, "I want to. Uh. Talk. About something. Actually, about several things and I wanted to ask if I could swing by?"

"Swing by? Like last time?" Tony quips.

"Well. I guess I should rather take the cap this time. People know about the suit now, and—of course, I wouldn’t risk being seen at the compound with the suit. Again, huh." Definitely the cap.

"Sorry about that too. Oh, wait, not sorry. The black thing you call a suit is horrendous, anyway. But you won’t take a cap. You’re at the university?"

Peter shows him the building behind him.

"Last course?"

"Ends five o’clock," he answers.

"Terrific. I’ll get you outside the main entrance at five then."

"Do you mean you or Happy?" Is Tony coming for him  _ personally _ ? And how is he going to make it through the rest of the day if he is?

"Neither. You’ll like it." And Tony ends the call, just like that. Peter stares at the screen for about three minutes before he finally looks up, grinning.

_ Also looking really good. _

Probably the world won’t end anytime soon.


	8. Pizza Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter likes pizza days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am bad. I didn't post on Sunday _again_. :(  
> In case you might wonder why I don't post even though I've already written most of the story, it's because I need a long time to proofread it since I don't have a beta reader, and I'm not a native speaker (you probably noticed that). I just drop it here: If someone wants to beta read, just leave me a message, I'd really, really appreciate it! ♡
> 
> Also: THANK YOU FOR YOUR COMMENTS AND KUDOS. It always makes me smile to read something from you.
> 
> I loved writing this chapter, I hope you'll enjoy it as much. :)
> 
> PS.: I rewrote the first chapter, I just couldn't stop my inner perfectionist from doing it.

_ Tuesday, oh my god, 5 pm. _

Peter doesn’t remember one word that’s been said during his last course of the day, which he only attends because he couldn’t say no to bioengineering, he doesn’t need it for his major. So, he thinks, that’s exactly what he should answer Tony the next time: ‘I found out that there’s something that really makes me forget everything you said before and it’s a compliment. Just try to pass me another compliment and I’ll forget the last one.’

Peter feels giddy and his thoughts are running at the speed of light. They probably really do. He should ask Tony what he thinks about that theory, eventually.

(Oh god, he’s leaving the building. What if Tony sends something horrible like a private jet to pick him up from university?)

(Please don’t be a private jet.)

(How high are his chances of getting away with playing the ‘I’m not Peter Parker’-card if it really was a private jet?)

(Still, he’d have to take the jet if it’s a fucking _ jet  _ , right?)

But there’s neither a private jet nor something similar waiting for him outside the university. Instead, there are students crowding the space in front of the main entrance, people leaving, smoking, talking to other people, and chilling out. It’s not a long way to the street, probably fifty meters, and there’s a parking area to the side. But Tony didn’t say  _ wait at the parking area  _ , he said  _ main entrance. _

Well.

Peter checks the time via phone, it’s 5.01 pm. He’s on schedule and usually Tony is too, at least if it’s not a party.  _ Always be late to parties. _

Fantastic. Now Tony speaks inside his head.

Then there is a sound, and it’s not only inside his head. Growling like a motorbike, but more powerful, and it’s approaching damn fucking fast. Too fast for speed limit, Peter’s sense of hearing whispers tense, and the tiny hairs at the back of his neck raise timidly.

_ Peng. _

A beautiful car appears at the corner and stops in front of the entrance with a quiet  _ puff  _ . Peter stares. And before he can even so much as blink, the passenger door opens invitingly on his side, gaping wide. There’s a passenger door on every side, but nothing else. The car is empty.

Peter’s not the only one looking. The crowd between him and the car stills, openly gaping at the futuristic thing without a driver. _ Is it self-driving?  _ Peter feels overexcited by the time Jarvis’ voice echoes from inside of the car, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Peter Parker?"

_ Oh shit,  _ he thinks,  _ He’s doing it on purpose, the bastard. why _

Peter nearly trips as he moves through the group of students, apologizing and flushed;  _ bastard, bastard, bastard.  _ Some people in the crowd start to whisper, others point at him, their smartphones hold up in position—and he ducks, mumbles something like "Stark internship, he!" before escaping into the car and closing the door with a snap.

"You did that on purpose!" he accuses the car with hot cheeks, and he’s not sure if Mr. Stark is listening to him, but he sure hopes he does.

Jarvis answers instead: "Good evening, Peter. Indeed, everything I do, I do on purpose. Did I do something wrong?"

The car starts moving and Peter’s too happy to get away from university to think about the missing driver.

"It wasn’t necessary to announce my name in front of the whole university, was it?" he pouts, looking around, "Mr. Stark? Is he listening?"

"I’m afraid no, Peter. Mr. Stark is currently attending a conference at the Stark compound. Should I notify him?"

"Uh, no. Of course not. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to shout at you," he sighs before he grabbing the seatbelt and quickly fastening it. The car smells amazing. New.

"Apology accepted."

"So… we are driving to the compound?"

"Yes, Peter."

He probably shouldn’t nose around since he’s in a very advanced (self-driving!) car that isn’t his, but he decides  _ fuck it  _ and unfastens the seatbelt again, crawling to the front: No driver’s seat. That’s too cool.

"I recommend it to fasten your seatbelt while we drive, Peter."

"This is a self-driving car. Is it Mr. Stark’s first self-driving car?" he answers with a counter-question.

"Mr. Stark worked on several self-driving cars in the past. However, the Tin Boy is the first one he ever used in public," Jarvis replies obligingly when Peter falters a moment, not believing his ears.

He wouldn’t have—he wouldn’t. Tony wouldn’t have remembered it. It happened over three years ago.

"Tin Boy?" Peter asks tentatively.

"Yes, Peter. Mr. Stark wanted me to remind you that he once called you ‘Tin Boy’—which wouldn’t be appropriate anymore. So he named the car Tin Boy instead. Would you like me to show you the inner workings?"

He slowly leans back again, stomach too warm. Tin Boy.

He remembers the moment, of course. In fact, he can recall every second, every glance, every time he made Tony laugh on that special day. Peter had just turned eighteen that week and Mr. Stark surprised him with a new suit, the Iron Spider armor. He was helplessly in love with Tony, and he remembers how he thought that Tony would want him now since Peter finally came of age.

Surprise, he didn’t.

"Yeah, that’d be awesome," Peter says quietly and there is melancholy drowning the smile on his face, but then the car lights up with displays and holographic models and numbers and a tv screen and Jarvis explains how the Tin Boy works, and it’s okay.

Because things change and Peter knows he won’t wait another six years.

***

They arrive an hour later. And Peter would rather not get off the Tin Boy, thank you.

"So, he’s still attending that conference?" He fidgets, mindlessly rearranging some parts of his holographic suit Mark 53. Mr. Stark (Tony!) showed him how to tinker with his suits when he turned eighteen, so he’s far from a newcomer to the program.

What doesn’t mean he’s doing anything useful right now. 

"No, he isn’t attending the conference anymore," the man in question answers through the speakers, making Peter jump.

"What!" he exclaims, struggling to catch his breath, "You wanna kill me or somethin’?"

"Never. You tryin’ to kill yourself with those lasers you adjusted the wrong way around? Or somethin’?"

"Uh." He thinks he should get angry with Tony, but he’s too stupidly in love with the man to feel such a mundane emotion like anger towards him. Life sucks.

"No, Sir?"

Fuck. He didn’t mean to say it, but Tony doesn’t seem to mind: "Come on. There’s pizza."

And Peter likes pizza. In fact, he likes _pizza_ _days_. Whenever they have pizza or other fast food, they talk and bond and work on their projects, and they almost always do it _together_. On pizza days, Tony typically wears the clothes he’s the most comfortable in, and sometimes his hair doesn’t look perfect.

Peter loves that.

But what he loves the most about pizza days is the fact that Tony’s always nice to him then. Nicer than usual. To-fall-in-love-again-and-again-nice. Peter hopes today’s exactly that kind of pizza day.

"Coming," he breathes, followed by nothing but a heavy silence that flows through the speakers, accompanying him to the outside of the car, to the entrance of the compound, past the security and other people he doesn’t remember seeing before. It’s more crowded than usual and even though not one of them stops him they all watch, wary, hands on their guns as if guns would save them.

As if guns would save Tony Stark in case there’s another attack. Peter wishes he wouldn’t have any reason to doubt that.

"Hey, Jarvis. I’d like to go to Mr.—to Tony," he bites his tongue when he enters the private elevator, doors closing smoothly behind him. He has a plan. And it involves him being _ good  _ and doing everything Tony wants him to do.

"Of course, Peter."

Unfortunately, he always feels the most cowardly when he needs to be the bravest. So he closes his eyes as the elevator begins to move so, so silently, and he passively leans against the wall opposite the door, and he breathes. The last time they talked to each other, everything had been such a mess. And now? What’s he going to do about it?

What’s Tony going to do about it?

He’d stop if he felt like he could stop, but the cogwheel of the last few days moved for too long now and nothing stops but the elevator. He looks up and there’s Tony with the smell of pizza hovering in the distance, and Peter knows today won’t be anything like any pizza day they ever had.

"Hey." Peter clears his throat, trying to smile.

Tony isn’t wearing comfortable clothes either, instead, he has a three-piece suit on with a dark red tie and only his loosened collar shows any sign of ‘No, I’m not about to give a press conference in the next few minutes.’

Then Peter looks closer.

Of course he does, since he’s damned to spiral endlessly at the event horizon of the supermassive black hole that is Tony Stark: It’s a Spider-Man tie. Peter gapes, finally stepping out of the elevator.

" _ What  _ are you wearing?" he asks, shocked and not very polite. It’s a surprise he’s able to talk, anyway.

"Hi Tony, hi Peter, how are you? Long time, no see. Oh sorry, Tony, I should have texted you sooner, sorry again, let’s not forget the  _ again  _ . You like to keep me waiting, huh? Oh  _ no, never  _ . I know how much you hate that so it won’t happen again, Scout’s Honor." Tony walks away, apparently finished with his Peter-Tony-conversation. Peter hurries after him, excited and—well—wary.

"I’m really sorry-"

"Ah," Tony winks his apology away, "Me too, and so on. It’s a Spider-Man tie, you like it? Also, here’s the news—Iron Man and Spider-Man are friends again. You’re welcome."

"Wha-what? You mean what they said in the news? That Spider-Man tried to stop you selling weapons to Vulture—what honestly is the most bullshit thing I’ve heard in a long time?"

"Where’s that mouth coming from? I like it. Keep swearing. But consider thinking again about why the papers wrote said bullshit," Tony suggests, gracefully crashing on the one and only couch inside the workshop, loosening his tie and collar even more. It’s the sexiest thing Peter has ever seen.

"And please help yourself. Pizza Mozzarella it was?" 

No, it wasn’t. They ate Pizza Margherita, Tonno, Funghi and Salami together. Peter remembers every single Pizza Day they spend together, and they never ate Pizza Mozzarella. Tony is not good at remembering things like Peter’s (or anyone’s) favorite pizza. But Peter is very good at liking everything, so it doesn’t matter. He’s never been on the picky side.

"Yeah, I like mozzarella," he smiles sincerely, fidgeting a little before not sitting down next to Tony but leaning against one of the workstations, "Uh, what do you mean? Why they wrote about Spider-Man trying to stop Iron Man—I mean, it’s obvious they made it up."

"Wrong. I told them."

"You did what?"

"They had fake proof that I sold my stuff to several criminal organizations, didn’t want you to be involved. Fed them anonymous but credible information that you are still a good guy," Tony even sounds slightly smug about it and Peter wants to hit him. But not in a good way. Shit.

"I can’t believe—why would you, I mean, I get  _ why  _ , but why not talk to me? I’m on your side, I could’ve helped, I don’t care if they-" 

"-ate you alive?" Tony volunteers, clearly up for the fight. Peter definitely isn’t, yet he feels raw, hot, hurt—and his fingernails bite the skin inside his fists. He looks away, and he doesn’t know why he’s so angry about it. In the end, he really should’ve known.

"Stop."

"Hell yeah, you can thank me another day. It’s over anyway. We blew their cover, put the fake docs back into their dirty mouths. Actually, I did and Pep helped—it’s over."

Thank him?

"Okay, you know, I’m glad about that, Tony. Really. I’d have liked to help, but it’s fine. Just stop protecting me." Peter straightens to walk a few feet away before turning and looking sharply at him.

"So we are staring at the ‘I’m not a kid anymore’ wall again? I would’ve done that for every Avenger or friend." There’s a confused undertone and maybe Tony doesn’t want to fight after all. Maybe he really thought Peter would appreciate the sentiment.

"I’m  _ worried  _ . And you made sure I can’t help let alone visit you, I heard about all of that in the news  _."  _ Like a bystander. Not like a friend. And Peter can’t handle to stand by and watch Tony burn. What if he wouldn’t have been there to help after the explosion?

_ "  _ It had nothing to do with you, Peter. It still hasn’t."

He presses his lips together. Fine.

"Then I want to be an Avenger. I say yes."

Tony smiles humorlessly, loosens his tie completely, and tosses it away. Peter’s mouth goes dry again, and he wonders if Tony’s doing it on purpose. It wouldn’t be okay, but it would be a Tony kind of thing to do.

Manipulating him, the bastard. Tick another point on the mental list about Tony’s dominant behavior.

"Oh, what’s suddenly wrong with ‘helping the small people’, friendly neighborhood spider and all? You changed your mind fast."

"You asked me five years ago." Tony must be kidding.

"What makes you think the offer’s still up?"

"You know I’m ready."

"And?"

He hesitates, mind racing.

_ And I want to move into the compound to save you from the next assault, and the next, and the next. I can’t sleep without knowing you’re safe, and I don’t care if you think the same about me. I want us both to fight together. You know I could help. You know I’m strong enough. You know I love you. Don’t you? _

"Please let me," is what Peter says then, "Sir."

He looks down for a second, feeling hot and cold all over before peering through his eyelashes at Tony. Mr. Stark. And yes, he’s doing it on purpose.

Tony returns his look like he either wants to kill or kiss him, he looks angry. It scares Peter in all the good ways.

"You shouldn’t talk to me like that," he says finally. Not moving, but also not averting his gaze.

"What if I don’t care about what I shouldn’t do?" He realizes he’s clawing at the hemline of his t-shirt and he loosens it, only to notice his hands are trembling. Tony’s face softens. Peter’s not sure if he’s blushing or going pale or both. 

"I care," Tony says low and then, "Brave Peter."

The words are almost inaudible, but Peter does of course hear them; he even sees them racing towards him, crashing his head and body. It’s a sweet pain.

The boy steps forward, and he knows it can’t be bravery because it’s desperation. When he slows down in front of Tony his heart beats loud enough to whiten his vision, and he thinks  _ can you actually die of longing?  _ but Tony is looking away and then he opens a hand and gestures for him to  _ come here  _ .

Peter doesn’t hesitate this time. He closes the gap between them, climbs onto the couch and crawls into Tony’s lap, feeling tiny and exhausted. Then he hugs the man, hiding his face under his chin. There’s warmth washing over him, flushing away the fear and anger, and  _ please don’t push me away again  _ . Tony doesn’t.

Peter thinks he can’t breathe, though he’s gasping for air, holding Tony even closer. The man smells addictive, and he wants to kiss him or talk to him or touch him more, but at the same time, he’s not sure if he’d be able to. He can’t move and he’s already getting hard.

After an eternity of a few seconds, his mind goes blank again, and he smiles. Wrapped up in a flood of endorphins that drown his body. It really feels like drowning.

"You good?" Tony asks after a while, voice deep and soft.

Peter wants to answer, but there’s only a "Mnm." leaving his mouth.

He has never felt anything like that before. It’s surreal because he’s only hugging Tony and he doesn’t merely feel good, he feels awed. Weird. High. His senses might go wild and that’s why, but Tony’s not the first person he likes and hugs. It’s not even their first hug. And he kissed before. He made out before. It’s never been like that. Because it’s never been Tony he kissed or made out with.

"Hey."

Tony’s voice sounds far away, like a bird talking to him from the distance, then flying off. He’s got goosebumps, but his body is slackened and numb, he’d probably consider someone drugged him if it wasn’t for Tony who’s the only other person in the room.

Tony, who is now looking at him. They are not hugging anymore.

"Feeling good or not good?" There is worry and Peter tries to focus, blinking slowly.

"Good." Well, he’s sure he’s fucking good. Not so sure about anything else.

"Hm. Jarvis, please tell me it’s just...," Tony trails off.

"It is, Sir. Peter is perfectly fine."

_ What is what?  _ Peter thinks slowly and tries to focus again. There’s a sting of fear climbing into his stomach, but somehow Tony knows, somehow he answers without needing Peter to collaborate.

"It’s fine. Don’t worry. It’s—I guess it has something to do with your heightened senses, but you feel good? You feel like flooding? Like you’re high?"

He’s talking slowly now and the deep voice is back, muffling him like a wool blanket. Warm words. He nods. Did Tony drug him?

"I didn’t drug you if that’s what you’re thinking," Tony answers his thoughts again. Peter pouts.

"You reading my mind?" he mumbles and thinks it would hardly be fair if he is. Tony smiles and wraps his arms around Peter again, and it’s perfect. Also, he doesn’t seem to be worried anymore and Peter thinks he can stop worrying too.

"Damn it. Do you remember when I said you looked good? I lied because you look not only good, you are beautiful. Brave. You are the bravest boy I ever met. I tried not to tell you. I’m sorry about that. But you are perfect in every way, Peter. Too clever for your own good, I must admit. Generous. Loving. Honest. And beautiful. You grew up, hm? I," he stops and Peter can’t see him closing his eyes, lost.

"I don’t want to destroy that."

Peter’s mouth is slow when he moves it: "You wouldn’t."

"Oh yes, that’s exactly the thing you’d say." Tony smiles, Peter can hear it.

"I do," he swallows, "You’re beautiful too."

"Shh. Don’t. It’s fine. Close your eyes," there're lips at the side of his neck and Peter shivers helplessly.

"Close," Tony commands softly and Peter does.

_ That’s it. _

"Good Boy."

He drowns again. It’s the best pizza day Peter ever had. Even without eating pizza.


	9. A Hole In The Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter sticks and Tony shoots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, thank you SO MUCH for all your comments and kudos! ♡ It's such an enthusiasm boost to read from you. :)
> 
> Aaaaaand I know I'm late. :( I started to study again and I'm working simultaneously so there's not that much time in between, unfortunately. I'll still update every week, but I can't promise to hit every Sunday (Like I did the last few weeks, right? Haha.). Sometimes I'll update Monday or Tuesday instead with Tuesday being the latest option (I hope).
> 
> And now – enjoy. ♡  
> I like this chapter a lot.

_A few hours later._

The air is humid when Peter wakes. Or does it just feel this way, is it his nose, his neck, his face, his skin? His hair. Or the voice above him, or the warm body next to him? Did they kiss?

Well. He definitely feels drugged. Still, Tony would never drug him.

And he didn’t take any weird pills with Mickey Mouse printed on, so that’s that. Or Digimon. Or Pokémon. He wouldn’t ever take _any_ pills from _any_ weird man if he’s honest with himself.

"I’m sure you wouldn’t. Also, say hello to Ned," someone says, and it’s definitely Tony, but then—then it’s definitely Ned. Peter blinks confused, he’s not lying in bed, he’s not even naked and there’s nobody next to him, there’s no Tony except he is there, but he’s fully clothed and standing casually in front of the couch inside the workshop, looking perfect. He’s eating pizza.

"What?" Peter mumbles, trying to think up something coherent and probably something that’s not ‘How do you look so perfect eating pizza?’ or ‘You would mind feeding me?’ He’s hungry.

"Oh my god, Peter," Ned is saying directly into his ears and Peter jumps at that, nearly falling from the couch, gripping the mobile phone he surprisingly holds in one hand.

_What the fuck, why is there a phone, why am I talking to Ned, why is Tony fucking grinning, oh god that’s embarrassing._

"Ned?" he asks because what’s he supposed to do? And wow, that’s just perfect: Tony doesn’t even have the decency to look away or do something else, he just stands there, enjoying the show. Peter might be looking like a scraggy dog, because he always does after sleeping, and he mindlessly tries to smooth down his hair whereat Tony’s grin widens.

It’s disgusting. Peter frowns at him with no impact whatsoever.

"Yeah, it’s me. Ned, what—why are you calling?" He tries not to sound too annoyed or sleepy or, you know, like someone who just experienced the weirdest drug/sex-thing that ever happened to him. And Peter is pretty sure that a) there weren’t any drugs involved and b) there wasn’t even sex. Sadly.

"I just talked to Tony Stark! Peter, that’s so cool, what’s he doing? Is he still there? Can I talk to him again? But don’t tell him I said that."

"Uhm. He’s eating pizza."

And looking smug about it.

"Wow," comes Ned’s serious answer, and Peter sighs before giving in to the smile that crawls onto his face. He sits up and discovers a wool blanket _someone_ threw over his body and why—it’s not even cold in here!

(But he thinks he likes the blanket.)

(He would’ve liked Tony more, so…)

(Okay.)

(How long did he actually sleep?)

"So, what’s it, Ned? I’m, you know, working right now."

"Mr. Stark said _to me_ you passed out while studying," Ned sounds as smug as Tony looks and Peter frowns again.

"Oh, did he—yeah, well, I did. Busted. Look, can we talk later-"

"That was a cover-up, wasn’t it? Did you two-"

"Oh my god _no_." Peter wants to die immediately, and he’s goddamn glad Tony doesn’t have heightened senses and isn’t able to listen to what Ned says.

"No? Okay. But did you-"

"Ned."

"Ok, ok—I mean, just tell me later, tiger."

Peter can’t help it, he’s blushing and covers his face with his free hand. There’s a low chuckle from Tony’s direction, making Peter even more paranoid.

 _"_ Now listen, I have something, Peter. Like, really important, okay? It might be a coincidence, but I honestly don’t think so—you remember when we talked about the Black Spider thing and watched TV? And they said something about Mr. Stark and how he’s involved in arms trafficking?"

"Yes, I remember," Peter looks up at Tony, "Uh, wait, I put you on speaker."

_Please don’t call me tiger again, Ned._

"You mean the day we watched NewsFront?"

Tony rolls his eyes, but he looks intrigued.

"Yes! Ok, so—you muted it, but I remember looking at the screen and they talked to some guy in the street, I guess it was just a random man? He said something mean about Mr. Stark and I didn’t think it was important until you told me about the grenade. You said something was written on it."

"Die in your sins," Peter whispers and catches Tony’s eye. He’s not eating pizza anymore.

"Right!" Ned gasps for air, he’s talking fast now. "So that guy? First, I thought I misremembered, but I found the clip on YouTube again and you know what? He said the same thing. He said, ‘Finally, Tony Stark will die in his sins’ and they subbed it with ‘pay for his sins’ but actually he said ‘die in his sins’ and isn’t that weird? You don’t say that about people, right? And what if it’s like a religious group or a terror organization? What if this guy is part of them and we could track him down? I mean, not _we_ as in _me_ and _you_ , but Mr. Stark could do it."

Tony changed from casual to ‘I mean business.’ in seconds and he’s already scrolling through YouTube, using a gigantic holographic display in front of him.

"Name of the video, Leeds?"

"Oh yes, yes, I have it here, Mr. Stark. It’s ‘NewsFront reporter talks to-‘"

"Got it." And _play_. Peter holds his breath and he feels like everyone in the room is doing the same, probably even Jarvis.

‘That Stark sellin’ weapons again? That just id’n right.’ A young woman with a southern accent.

‘Guess being Iron Man didn’t pay off. But it’s a crime, isn’t it? They have to arrest him.’ A man, maybe from New York.

‘I don’t believe that shit. I mean, he’s Iron Man. I saw him once, you know? I think he winked at me. Cool bro. He wouldn’t do that shit again. Oh sorry, am I allowed to say shit on TV?’ ‘No, but we have a YouTube channel.’ A guy.

‘You know what?–’ And Ned immediately speaks up, "That’s it, that’s him!" when Tony turns up the volume and rewinds the video for a few seconds.

‘You know what? Finally, Tony Stark will die in his sins. Serves him right, if you ask me.’ It’s a man in his thirties by the looks of it, black hair, brown eyes, no beard, glasses. He could be a teacher or a bus driver, there’s nothing special about him. He definitely doesn’t look like a terrorist. Or like someone who could attack anyone with a grenade. Let alone Tony Stark _inside the compound_.

"Jarvis, stop the video. Zoom. Face identification. Toss it through the database. Anything?"

"I need a few seconds, Sir."

Peter swallows.

"Ned, thank you, man. But I think I have to hang up. I talk to you later, okay?"

"You guys think it’s a lead?"

Tony doesn’t answer and Peter doesn’t know, but it looks like it. And they need a fucking lead. Also, Tony needs someone who can protect him. Someone like Peter, if you ask him.

"Probably. I’ll call you. Thank you, really."

He ends the call and gets up to stand next to Tony, watching Jarvis scrolling through thousands of faces, rolling by like a slot machine.

"Have you ever seen him before?" Peter asks quietly.

"Never in my life."

"It seemed like it’s personal."

"I know."

Peter bites his lip and wishes he wouldn’t notice Tony’s aftershave right now, or that he could be sure his racing heart is just a reaction to the YouTube video.

_He hugged me. He said …_

The slot machine stops. Bingo.

"Jeremy Davis, 32, currently living in New Jersey."

"Employment? Family? Connections to Mexico?" Tony’s voice sounds curt.

"Currently unemployed. Widowed. He has one child, Tommy Davis. According to the New York State Office of Children and Family Services, the child lives in Indiana with its maternal grandparents. No connection to the occurrences in Mexico. Sir?"

Widowed. And the OCFS. Peter swallows, thinking about something and hoping he’s wrong. Tony nods.

"Mrs. Davis died in 2008, Sir. In Gulmira."

"Gulmira," Tony whispers suddenly and he loos down, turning away.

"Where’s Gulmira? What does that mean?" Peter follows Tony with his eyes, confused, and yet thinking. _Gulmira, Gulmira, Gulmira—_ he heard the name before.

"Why was she in Gulmira? She didn’t live there, did she?" Tony doesn’t answer Peter but looks at Davis’ face again.

"She worked abroad as a doctor," Jarvis answers softly and Peter’s spinning thoughts come to a halt, catching up with his former suspicion: Gulmira. The first town Iron Man saved from terrorists who used his weapons to attack innocent people. He couldn’t save everyone, of course. You can never save everyone.

"It’s personal. It’s revenge," Peter concludes, feeling terrible and scared and _numb_ , "Die in your sins. The weapons you sold all these years ago. That’s why they used Stark weapons. The grenade. They want to kill you as your weapons killed…" Peter trails off when he catches sight of Tony, of his face and eyes and the pain hidden there, the fear. The guilt.

The determination. 

After a split second everything but the determination vanishes and he looks back at him, showing no emotion anymore. Perfect at hiding them.

"Peter. Go." It’s not a question.

"Wait, I-"

"Go."

His stomach aches, but didn’t MJ mention exactly that, _he’ll never stop hurting you_ , and he thinks probably she’s right. If Tony never stops pushing him away, he’s going to have to push back as hard as he can.

"No", Peter says after a moment, crossing his arms. He tries not to look intimidated by the stern expression the older man directs at him—even though he is. Intimidated. Terrified. "I’m staying."

Uh.

"No," Tony repeats slowly, stepping right inside Peter’s private space and he wants to back off so bad but he doesn’t. He can’t. He won’t let it happen.

"You are, in fact, not staying. In fact, you are already on your way home to your little flat where no one’s going to attack you, where you’re SAFE. Do you understand?"

Because Peter isn’t safe here anymore, no one is safe inside the compound, at Tony’s side. He knows he can’t force Tony to accept his help, but fuck.

He can fucking try.

"Let’s talk about safe. Let’s talk about me saving you from that fire? Because I can do it. I can save you when people attack you because I’m really strong, you know. I’m actually stronger than you."

Tony shakes his head.

"This has nothing to do with your strength, Peter. It has nothing to do with your ability to save people, I don’t doubt you can do it, but when you’re dead, you’re dead. You can’t heal death. The next attack kills you? You are dead."

The _And it’s my fault_ hovers above them, in silence.

"So are you," Peter objects, swallowing. His throat tightens while talking. This differs from anything they ever had to face before, this is not an evil villain trying to steal Tony’s tech and it’s for sure no alien army trying to destroy the world—what would probably be as bad, but at least aliens wouldn’t only target Tony.

"And it’s me they want. Not you."

Peter’s thoughts stumble inside his head, and there’s no one catching him. He’s alone in this because Tony wants him to be, because Tony still only sees the small kid that needs protecting. And Peter understands. He knows Tony is just as scared as him, but the difference is not fear, it’s trust. Peter would trust Tony with his life, but Tony doesn’t even trust him to be able to save himself. Let alone save Tony.

So he’s left with two options, and he won’t take the easy way out this time.

"Then make me go," he whispers.

At least Tony looks surprised. Ha.

"I’m not playing with you."

"I’m not playing either. Make me go. If you can."

And there’s it again: The adrenaline rush he felt a few days ago when he asked Tony to tell him what to wear, when he challenged his excuses, his _I don’t know what you’re talking about._

He didn’t win last time, but he’s going to win this time.

"What you wanna prove, huh? That you’re stronger than me? Good luck with that, Parker." Tony’s really not playing, there’s no amusement hidden beneath his voice but when he tries to push Peter back with his hand, the boy doesn’t move. Stubborn.

"Don’t make me do it. We know who’d win."

"I don’t think there will be a winner," Peter says bitterly.

There’s a moment of silence and the little boy inside Peter thinks _he’s going to let me stay, he’s just bluffing, he won’t make me fight him because we are friends, because he loves me._ It’s pathetic, but Peter wants to believe the boy.

Then Tony nods and touches his own chest.

"True."

The clicking of the Iron Man armor sounds violent as the metal coats Tony, making him appear taller and bigger and stronger. It’s a new suit and Peter steps back at the sight, looking around only to realise he’s not inside his own suit. But it’s not a problem, right, because he has the watch.

He wants to touch it, but Iron Man is faster, of course he is, and he grabs his arm.

"Trying to use my tech against me? You wouldn’t be the first one," he says with his metallic voice, and it hurts Peter even though he knows it’s meant to hurt him.

"Karen, help me here-"

"Override authorization: Peter Parker."

"No!"

"Sorry not sorry. Let’s take you home."

He tries to take him bridal style but Peter isn’t in the fucking mood; he flips backward, kicks the chest plate of the suit and tries to mobilize enough force to free himself from the firm grip and it’s–

It’s not working.

The suit is too strong, it doesn’t even waver, and he uses all his strength, he tries so hard, he’s actually hurting himself but he can’t lose this, he can’t always lose, he won’t lose, he won’t. Still, he can’t free himself either.

"I’m sorry, but you are not strong enough."

Of course, there’s no emotion showing on Iron Man’s face, but that fact doesn’t take away from the cruelty of the moment and Peter thinks _I don’t even have a chance._

He can’t fight the suit without his own suit, he isn’t even able to throw webs. He’s useless. There are tears stinging his eyes and he stops kicking Tony and throws his fists against the armor, hard. Nothing happens.

How pathetic.

Tony doesn’t talk anymore, he just holds him as the roof of the workshop opens and Peter glances up, and there are stars, so many stars, all of them giving him a look of commiseration. They rocket upwards, wind whipping his tears away.

It’s not the first time Iron Man carries him. Back in the day, they would go on patrol together and Tony would give him advice. He’d tell him new things about his suit or about the tech he’s currently working on, or he’d share some old stories, anything, everything. It never really mattered what Tony would say exactly, if it was a joke or a funny story or even something he already told Peter before because he tended to forget these things too. Peter didn’t care.

He liked everything Tony said. He liked his voice and his wit and he liked how he teased him, always sweet and confident and polite, always nice, especially to him.

Once, they crossed the New York bay and flew high above the governor’s island to look for a burglar on the run. They caught him, of course, they always caught the bad guys. They were an excellent team.

Then they stopped going on patrol together. _Puff_.

Peter never understood why they’d stopped. Of course, he’d still visit Tony in the workshop and they’d tinker together and everything would be kind of okay, just not so often anymore, just twice a month.

Peter thinks it’s a shame, and he thinks if he wasn’t feeling so terrible now he’d enjoy the flight in a sad, nostalgic kind of way. Then he remembers more about _how_ they flew across the bay back then, and there’s something else that comes to his mind. Sometimes when they went on patrol together, he’d use his powers to stick to the armor. It would make it easier for them both.

Peter can be sticky without the suit. He swallows and peers at the direction they are flying to, New York City growing bigger and bigger in the distance.

Well, he thinks, he already lost the game. He can’t lose more.

He throws his arms and legs around the suit and _sticks_ , holding onto it as tight as he can. Tony wants to fly him home? Fine. Tony wants to force him away, fucking push him away? Fine. He’s going to stick to him and if Tony’s getting out of the suit, he just sticks to _him._

It’s not a good plan, but Peter’s way too desperate to care.

They don’t talk during the remaining flight but Tony doesn’t seem to notice how Peter sticks to him, he probably thinks it’s a hug but it’s not.

_It’s not a fucking hug, we are way beyond that._

There are people pointing at them from the streets of New York City, some are shouting: " _Look, it’s Iron Man! Is he carrying someone?"_ Peter doesn’t mind too much, he’s too occupied with sticking to the suit like he’s mad. Then they suddenly arrive and Tony stops dead in front of Peter's open bedroom window.

He always leaves it open, just in case.

"Window or door?" the metallic voice asks.

"Fuck you," Peter answers politely.

"Sweet."

It’s a big window, but with Peter sticking to him it’s quite a challenge to fit them both through it. Peter grins a little at Tony’s curses, feeling madder and madder when suddenly there’s a _BOOM_ , but it’s not a grenade—oh god, no—it’s just Iron Man shooting the wall above his window so that they both can enter the flat.

Wow.

"Bigger window, better view," Tony says lightly and lands next to Peter’s bed, sighing. A part of the window frame breaks from the wall, hitting the street two floors downwards with a miserable _thud_.

Peter wants to laugh and cry simultaneously, he really feels like a madman. And he wants to kiss Tony if he’s completely honest.

"Welcome home Petey but let’s postpone the pajama party and call it a night, whatcha think?" Tony stretches out his arms. Peter stays stuck, obviously.

"Okay, what’s the plan here? What are you doing?"

"Winning."

He isn’t winning, but he’s also not losing anymore, so it’s not a lie per se.

"We still fighting?"

"No. You lost. Take me back."

"You know, you’re acting pretty childish right now, Spider- _Man_. And you do realize I could heat the suit to over 100 degrees, right?"

"Mhm, I heal."

"I could shock you, you lose consciousness, prince has to wake you with a kiss."

"Are you the prince, then?"

"I shouldn’t have said that."

"Mh no, you shouldn’t have."

Another sigh. Next second Tony takes hold of Peter’s shoulders and pushes, unsuccessfully. Peter managed to get as much skin contact as possible with the suit, he even pulled his t-shirt up a bit so that his whole upper body could get stuck. It’s a little embarrassing, but he’s a fucking super-glue if he wants to be, and Tony can’t stop him. 

"Fuck, you’re kidding," Tony curses, starting to walk around with Peter fully stuck to the suit.

"So, let’s think this through. I’m going to step out of the suit and then you jump me and use your Gum Gum powers on me again, right? I could shock you of course, but you know I don’t really want to hurt you and it _would hurt_. But Peter, you don’t really give me a choice here, right? You want me to shock you? I’ll do it. Let’s see—three—two—"

"Wait."

"Waiting."

"If you had seen One Piece, you’d know what Gum Gum powers are, and it has nothing to do with what I’m doing right now."

"You really wanted me to wait so you could teach me what Gum Gum powers are?"

Peter breathes and loosens his face from the suit, looking up at the Iron Man mask.

"Please don’t shock me."

"That won’t work. Three–"

"Please, Sir." He’s desperate.

Tony unmasks his head before looking directly into Peter’s eyes, displeased.

"You can’t just call me Sir and think you win the argument."

Peter kisses him.

And he’s giving it his everything, pouring his soul into the kiss, six years of waiting, wanting, longing. He’s not forceful though, he doesn’t even know. It’s soft.

A slight touch. He feels hot and feverish and _they are kissing._ Is Tony even kissing him back? Peter opens his numb eyes to check and there he is, looking into him with one of his beautiful, intense glances and it’s soft and affectionate. Then Tony starts to kiss him back.

There’s a slow movement of his lips, every touch sending sparks through Peter’s body, stabbing his stomach with adrenaline, and _oh god it’s too good, feels so good_. He squirms a little, sighing, losing all his stickiness but still holding the man like a lifeline, his only lifeline. He smells him, tastes him, feels him, and it’s so much better than every dream he could ever have. His eyes close again and suddenly there’s a clicking sound, the cold armor disappears and a body presses against him, pushing him into the wall next to the door.

It’s surreal.

Peter moans but doesn’t break away from the kiss, too scared to lose him. So he breathes into Tony’s mouth, feeling messy and inexperienced and small—but in a good way, oh god, in such a good fucking way. He looks up again, face burning with something Peter never felt before.

And the man still stares at him, it’s kind of unnerving, too intense, too intimate. Too good, maybe.

Peter thinks, _probably he wants me to look back so he can see how good he’s making me feel._ And he looks back, cautiously licking Tony’s bottom lip, asking him if he’s allowed to enter, asking him not to leave him, not to end this kiss.

Tony smiles. Peter feels it tickling his lips, and he smiles back, licking his mouth again. He never felt that happy in his entire life. Then Tony breaks the kiss, turns around, and walks two steps away. Pausing.

Peter pants, tasting his own lips. His heart runs a marathon, violently pushing those endorphins through his system. Tony could easily step into the suit and fly away, leave him like he knows he will, eventually.

He swallows, and it’s Tony's taste inside his mouth.

He kissed him. Oh god, he kissed Tony. And Tony kissed him back. Peter wants to burst out laughing, it’s been six years, and he kissed him back. There is an indistinct sound, like Tony is licking his lips too—Peter wouldn’t be able to see, but he’s pretty sure he’s able to hear it.

What are they going to do now?

It’s been three seconds or three years, and Tony isn’t turning around. _What’s so bad that you can’t face me after we kissed?_ Peter asks silently, and he wants to say it out loud, but in the end, he doesn’t. In the end, he might wait to the point when Tony suits up and leaves him. Like always.

But not today.

Tony lifts his hand to click the arc reactor, at least Peter thinks he’s doing it, and he steps forward to clear his throat. Tony stills but doesn’t turn around.

"Wait. I need to say something." He swallows, thinking _okay, this sounds wrong, like the ‘I want to marry you’-kind of wrong._ He fidgets a little.

"Uh, it’s not a ‘Would you marry me?’, so don’t worry."

He probably shouldn’t have said that but he kissed Tony and he feels not only mad, he definitely _is_ mad by now. Chances are fifty fifty that Tony is going to fly away on him now, but he’s lucky because the man not only stays but in fact turns around, giving him a serious look.

"Indeed, I’m terrified. But go on."

There is a tiny smile reaching Peter’s lips, but then he looks down and feels something else. A breeze. A change in the air. He opens his mouth and Tony interrupts Peter’s "Could-" with his own hard voice.

"Don’t. We can’t do this. I can’t do this."

Peter looks up.

"Why?" His mouth is heavy. It is either paradise or hell with Tony.

"You know why, I’m sorry we just– I shouldn’t have, we shouldn’t—I’m sorry." The Iron armor appears, hiding Tony from what he’s done.

"I’m not. I’m not sorry!" Peter can’t stop himself from getting louder and then Tony turns away and Peter follows him to that wreck of a window, numb step after another.

"I never thought you’d want it."

"I don’t," Iron Man says, ready to fly away.

"Oh, that’s why you kissed me back?" Peter knows he shouldn’t say it, but honestly? He’s not sure if he’ll be able to forget something like that kiss and move on. He feels like things will never be the same. He feels lost.

Iron Man pauses.

"No. I-"

"How long did you want me like that?" Stop it, Peter.

"I don’t."

"How long?"

"I don’t know."

"Tell me."

"Stop it."

"No. Fuck, no, because I wanted you for six years, you have no fucking idea how that felt, you don’t, and now you’re kissing me back and telling me I’m beautiful and good and making me feel like I really am, like you really want me. And I’m old enough, I can’t fucking change how old I am, I wish I could—and what if you died?"

He gasps and Tony disappears through the window, straight into the blackness of the night.


	10. The Boy Who Needs To Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks AGAIN for all the comments, I loved every word from you! ♡ And I realize I didn't post for, like, two weeks, and I'm utterly sorry. :(  
> I just couldn't find the time, to be honest. BUT I'm posting one short chapter now and I'll post another short chapter tomorrow, promise. Both are already lectured and ready to go out in the world.
> 
> I'm trying to post a third & probably longer one by Tuesday or Wednesday. That's the plan, at least.  
> One thing in advance: Sorry for the cliffhanger. Everything will be explained by the chapter after the one I'm posting tomorrow.
> 
> Have fun. ♡

Peter dreams of explosions and kisses and drugs. Someone drugged him. He dreams of someone who breaks into his room, grabs his face  _ hard,  _ and pins him to the bed. Brutal. A hand around his throat. Soft. Not so soft. He looks up and it’s Tony, of course it’s him. His eyes are black but kind and there’s a smile behind them when they kiss, always looking down on Peter, watching.

He’d never close his eyes on Tony again. It takes several minutes for him to calm down and wake up properly, his face pushed into the pillow, breathing hard. He’s not crying, but maybe he feels like it. Maybe he lost something and it’ll never come back to him.

There is something very cruel about irreversibility.

He kissed Tony, and maybe he always knew he’d do that at some point. So he reached this exact point, he stumbled over it, crashed into the nether land behind it, and now there is no going back anymore.

There is yes or no, but no maybe. Like when someone dies there is no going back, no seeing him again, no talking to him again. Okay, okay—he’s probably just being childish and melancholic and sad, but the problem is he thinks he lost the ability to be childish.

He killed the boy.

The one who loved Tony for many different reasons, and the one Tony loved for just the same reasons. Now that he’s dead, what if Tony can’t bear to look into his eyes anymore?

And yet.

***

_ End of the night. _

He wouldn’t admit it, but it’s definitely a panic attack. Good thing is, he’s alone—and of course, he’s always kind of alone because he prefers it that way (liar) but now there is Bruce. Somewhere inside the compound. He arrived yesterday evening, probably the minute he kissed Peter—the minute Peter kissed him—like a harbinger of the storm.

Only that the storm is already here, isn’t it? Fucking up everything Tony believed in, everything Tony fought for. How cheesy. How appropriate. He should’ve seen it coming.

_ How long? _

There’s something inside him that would’ve liked to see himself getting killed by that grenade. That’s how long, honey.

It’s just as well that he’s practiced in panic attacks. They like him, they think he’s a worthy adversary. They both had a lot of quality time together for the last couple of years. It might be love.

_ How long. _

Tony’s hands shake by the time he opens the Redbreast, a single pot still whiskey that waited twelve years for this exact moment, the moments of its inevitable death. Some of it dies on the surface of Tony’s workstation. What a waste he doesn’t give a shit about.

He downs the first glass in one gulp, then the second one too. By the time he pours himself the third one, the panic drowns helplessly, and he starts to breathe again.

Six years is a long time. And he shouldn’t be that sober.

"Jarvis, time," he commands, but his voice is low and sad and pitiful. Of all the things he could have done, of all the things he would have liked to do—of all these things …

He just kissed him back.

And it felt awfully fantastic. It shouldn’t have. 

It shouldn’t have.

"12.01 pm, Sir."

"He’s just a kid, how could I kiss him?"

Jarvis doesn’t answer this time.

The problem isn’t even the kiss. A kiss is a kiss, it’s not Armageddon, no matter how wrong the kiss might be. And honestly? Peter isn’t sixteen anymore, they didn’t break any laws—Tony does fucking know that, okay.

There’ve been worse things he’d done and there will be worse things he’ll do, that’s for sure.

No, the problem is 

_ fuck _

not the kiss.

***

_ Wednesday, 3:21 pm. _

"Tony." It’s Bruce.

He throws the man a smile because he hates to see the pity on his face; he hates it. And what he hates, even more, is that Peter never pitied him, never, never, never. Like he’d just decided to become the most perfect human being in the entire universe at eighteen.

Or before.

"God, I’m so glad to see you." 

Bruce crosses the room after entering and hugs him. Tony swallows but surrenders into the touch. Just a moment. He missed him too.

"You don’t have to call me god when it’s just me and you and Jarvis. Tony’s fine," he jokes and steps back, looking into those warm eyes for a moment. That’s when he forgets something, and he only remembers as Bruce’s eyes drift away, to the half empty whiskey bottle and the tech scattered over his workstations.

"Looks like trash but it’s not," he catches up before Bruce can say something and sighs because he knows he sounds defensive and Bruce knows too.

Perfect.

"Look," he stops because that’s the moment his conversational partner usually interrupts him, but the scientist doesn’t and he also doesn’t stop looking, waiting. Polite. There’s a good chance Bruce might already know too much.

So Tony thinks for a second, what if he tells him? __

_ I kissed the kid, what should I do? _

But he can’t of course. And he turns away, grabs his whiskey glass, and downs the rest because why the fuck not. Bruce sighs and he feels awful.

"I’m not here to tell you not to drink that much and in the light of events, well, I don’t think I can come up with a sensible reason not to. Can I have one?"

"Sure. And big man won’t mind?"

Bruce chuckles a moment while Tony opts for the liquor shelf for another glass.

"Big man can handle a glass of whiskey."

"Good metabolism? Of course, you have. Oh, pity. I would have liked to see the green one getting wasted, I could get my party armor, and we’d crash a party in upper New York."

"You have a party armor?"

"‘Course. Only it’s a little … damaged since I beat up Rhodey with it when he attacked me with that one armor he stole from me, but—long story. I can pee into my suit and it gets reprocessed to water. Cheers."

"That’s disgusting. Cheers."

"That’s what she said. Pepper, I mean. Not a joke, that’s exactly what she said, without the ‘Cheers’," Tony winces a moment and sits down in front of the nearest workstation. This place really looks like shit. He doesn’t even remember when he slept anywhere but here. Except he does: The night before a terror organization placed a grenade inside his bedroom.

Now, the workshop is the only place in the world he feels remotely safe. Not that he hasn’t anywhere else to sleep, in fact, there’s already another apartment fully furnished and ready to be slept in by Tony inside the compound.

"How’s she?" Bruce leans at the working top and nips at his glass.

"Good, good…—I had a breakdown." Tony is not looking, voice neutral.

"Afghanistan?"

"Funny—the grenade. It’s just a fucking grenade. Little explosion. You wanna know how many people want to see me dead? I don’t, I don’t care, they don’t scare me. One punch from Iron Man makes a louder  _ boom  _ than an old grenade, though it was a Stark Industries grenade, so it still made a pretty good  _ boom  _ . The kid was there," he tries to breathe but his face feels like stone.

"Peter? Tony, I’m sorry. Is he alright?" There is a hand touching his shoulder, and he stands up,  _ don’t talk about the kid, Tony. Don’t. _

_ Don’t call him kid. _

"’Course he is. He fucking saved me because I was out a few secs. He just walked through the fire to save me." Dumb kid.

"We all would and you know it."

"A kid doesn’t have to save me. Shouldn’t have to. It’s irresponsible. He’s going to go to school or university, he’s going to have a girlfriend and he’s going to kiss her when she wins prom queen. He’s going to have a family. Do you have a family? No. Do any of us? And don’t even start with Barton or I start with Nat. We don’t get to have families. Not us. But Peter won’t be one of us. And he definitely won’t be like me. He won’t give up good life just because I can’t hold my shit together and he thinks he’s some sick kind of responsible for that."

Bruce looks hurt, but Tony only nods to himself before activating the holographic interface on his watch, showing him the grenade.

"So. I need your help to figure out who the fuck is targeting me. Rhodey’s on a mission on Iceland with Nat, Thor is having a road trip through the universe with teddy bear; I don’t care about Barton or Steve and I won’t ask Harry Potter even if I knew how to contact him. We are on our own. You in?"

"Of course I’m in," Bruce draws nearer before circling the image of that little ball with the SI logo printed on it, right next to the bloody words: DIE IN YOUR SINS.

"But Tony?"

"What?" There’s the hand again, patting his shoulder as Bruce walks past him.

"You’re not his father. It’s his decision. And he loves you."

_ But that’s the whole problem, isn’t it?  _ he thinks when Jarvis suddenly interrupts them.

***

_ BREAKING NEWS! _

_ "  _ This is Christine Everhart from NewsFront. Just this minute reports reached us about an explosion in Suffolk Street in Lower East Side. NewsFront researcher Christian Hardy is at the scene, joins us by the camera. What are you seeing? What’s going on there?"

A cut. Then a multistory building on fire, in the middle of New York. There’s a big, big hole screaming from one side of the house, black smoke escaping the hellish mouth. Sirens. Emergency lights. People talking in the background, pointing at the fire, filming it with their phones. Police officers trying to stop them.

Then a man steps in front of everything.

"I’m here. We are currently looking at an apartment building at 178 Suffolk Street in Lower East Side in New York City. Ten minutes ago an explosion hit the building—there’s a lot of police cars, and eh—fire trucks, ambulances. There are bomb squad vehicles. Eh, we don’t know what the situation is."

"Okay, okay. You talked about ambulances, did you see them, did you see if someone’s injured?"

The man suddenly looks away, shakes his head—staring at something the camera doesn’t show.

"No, no, we don’t know if someone’s injured. Ah, what I see right now is… could you point the camera there," the field of view changes and shows more fire trucks directly in front of one of the building entrances. There are firefighters stepping through the front door.

"Fire officers enter the building and I repeat, the explosion happened ten or fifteen minutes ago. We don’t know if someone’s injured. They now enter the building to look for them, I think."

"Okay, thank you so much, Christian. Our investigative reporter Sam Hudson now says there have been two minor injuries so far. Fire officers are entering the building at this exact moment to look for the people who live there and… Okay, I think there is confirmation that a bomb caused the explosion. The explosion took place fifteen minutes ago inside an apartment building at 178 Suffolk Street in Lower East Side. The police confirmed it was not an accident, but a bomb explosion. As you can see from that image, police activity is extensive, ambulances, bomb squad. We will find out what exactly has transpired here, if it was a terrorist attack. We-"

"Christine?"

"What’s going on, Chris?"

"Iron Man just arrived."

First, the image is blurry but then it sharpens suddenly, Iron Man rocketing without hesitation directly into the mouth of fire, disappearing while shooting a white substance at the flames.

"He entered the building, I repeat, Iron Man just entered the building through a, uh, hole the explosion caused. This must be the apartment the explosion originated from."

"Do we already know who lives there? Sam? Okay, okay, we have a name here, it’s a student from State University. We cannot confirm if he is a victim or the one who placed the bomb, we don’t know if he’s alive either. We’ll be back in a minute with additional information on a bomb attack in Lower East Side, New York City."


	11. Dominance Field Experiment conducted by Peter Parker

_ (Ned, if you are reading this, stop now.) _

_ (I mean it.) _

_(Please.)_

**Dominance Field Experiment**

**written by Peter Parker**

**Three elements to consider**

Him Me Others

I am conducting a field experiment to investigate/determine his behavior around me to prove or disprove if he is interested in dominating me. It doesn’t matter if he is doing it on purpose or not.

**Statement of problem:** Is he acting differently around me? Or is his behavior towards me just the result of his confident (commanding) mannerism, and I am not the only one around whom he acts like that?

**Variables:**

Manipulated: Him

Responding: His reaction towards me and towards (my) submissive behavior

Constant variable: Memories, my observations when I watch him act around others

**Hypothesis:**

He does in fact act differently around me.

**Procedure:**

  1. Going through websites, journals, and books to find out what counts as dominant behavior.
  2. Write it down.
  3. Meet him.
  4. Observe how he behaves around me.
  5. (Behave submissively to trigger him.)
  6. Tick the lines he proves with his behavior.
  7. Follow-Up: Find out if he’s only doing it around me (memories, observing him and others).
  8. ~~Optional: Show him to prove it.~~ _Too embarrassing._



**Tabulation of data:**

**no tick** = he’s not doing it

**✓** = he’s doing it around everyone 

**✓✓** = he’s doing it around me more often

**✓✓✓** = he’s doing it only around me

**Looking directly into my eyes** ✓

→ he always does that, but he’s doing it with everyone

→ it makes them listen to him

**Not asking, commanding** ✓✓

→ not always, but often

→ not only me

→ but he’s probably doing it more around me than around others?

**Telling me to look into his eyes** ✓ ✓ ✓

→ oh my god, I love it when he does that

→ NEVER saw him doing it with anyone else

→ it’s so bossy, okay

**Guiding me when I walk beside him, probably with a hand on my back** ✓✓✓

→ I didn’t notice until now

→ he’s doing it!

→ I don’t think he’s doing it with other people?

**Telling me where to sit, through words or gestures** ✓✓✓

→ yes yes yes

→ only with me

→ love it

**Telling where to go, through words or gestures** ✓

→ hand gestures, mostly

→ I think he’s doing it with others too

→ like a boss

**Telling me to do things in general** ✓

→ definitely not only me

→ he’s ordering everyone around

→ I LOVE him doing that, it’s so funny

**Telling me if I did good or bad** ✓✓✓

→ oh my god, okay

→ only me?

→ I can’t stop thinking about him doing that

→ he says I’ve been good? I’m in heaven

→ he scolds me? HELL

→ he is the only person in the world that can do this to me, I’m sure

→ he did it when we hugged and I think he drugged me with his words

**Leading the conversation** ✓

→ so true

→ everyone

→ nothing is better than watching him talk someone into the ground

→ am I a bad person for saying that?

→ also: I’m good at fighting back with words

→ I think he likes that about me

**Leading my movements**

→ what does this even mean? 

→ he takes my arm and moves it where he wants it to be?

→ … 

→ I think I’d like that

**Telling me what to wear (directly or indirectly)**

→ he doesn’t want to

→ at least he said that

→ why was he even asking me if I’d want that? I don’t get it, honestly

→ no tick

**Telling me what to eat (directly or indirectly)** ✓ (✓)

→ okay, that’s ... wouldn’t that be weird?

→ he never did that

→ I mean he always decides what we eat when we eat together, so…

→ is he doing it???

→ is it only me?

**Telling me how I should live** (???) ✓✓

→ hmmmm

→ he’s doing that father thing and he taught me a lot

→ ok, so I looked up what this means (regarding dominants) and I think I get it now: it’s about dominants controlling the lives of their partners, but not in a bad way

→ they buy them a better tv or tell them they should have this or that, actually, it’s not THAT different to parents

→ that’s not making this easier, I guess 

→ so: he is doing it indirectly because he buys things for me

→ he is doing that with others too

→ I don’t know if he buys better bedsheets for all of us, buuuuuuut

→ is he controlling me by buying me things?

→ never thought about it before

**Telling me where I should live** ✓✓✓

→ well

→ he didn’t tell me, he sent me the address to my current apartment

→ and the contact to the woman who owns it

→ I never thought about it too much?

**Telling me what I should call him**

→ I mean, he told me not to call him SIR

→ I get that’s not a tick

**Trying to control me** ✓✓

→ I don’t know

→ yes?

→ I’d say he’s controlling me more than the others

→ also: I let him

**Probably even manipulating me**

→ difficult

→ he’s manipulating other people sometimes

→ for example, I saw him provoking Happy once so he would be too distracted to notice him stealing the sandwich Happy made for himself

→ I know it sounds dumb, but he did it ok

→ I can’t be sure, but I think he does it with me too? Not in a bad way though

→ I mean, the thing with the tie?

→ probably only my imagination

→ need more proof to tick

**Calling me names like Good Boy** ✓✓✓

→ he did it three times, it slipped him only twice

→ one time he did it on purpose (oh god, it was so good)

→ he never did that to anyone else I know

→ I love it

**Conclusion**

He’s a bossy bastard, and I love it when he bosses me around. I let him. He’s doing it way more often around me and some things he is ONLY doing around me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Peter Parker the night before the events of the last chapter.


	12. A Game With No Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone plays a game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LATE CHAPTER INCOMING.
> 
> *runs and hides*
> 
> (Seriously, I'm sorry. Studying, working, AND getting my wisdom teeth removed isn't helping me updating regularly. I can now say: I won't be able to update every week, but updates will come eventually. Last but not least: I hope y'all have marvelous Christmas holidays! If you can't celebrate with your families, always remember: You are not alone. It's the first Christmas I won't spend with my family but with friends who I see with the aid of online meetings. Shit happens. Hopefully, next Christmas will be less of a mess. Love to you all! ♡)

And however much he wishes he could talk to Karen.

"You should talk me out of it. Actually, Tony would be way better off with you turned on because you would have talked me out of going here, right? You would have said, ‘Peter, it’s not a good idea to go back again, because hey, remember—Tony doesn’t want you here, actually, he doesn’t want you near him at all.’," he does, in fact, imitate Karen with a higher voice, before he grimaces, rubbing his hands over his face. 

"Oh shit, but that’s not what you’d say, right? You would be nice and sweet and you would probably say," and he’s not imitating her voice again but walks another nervous circle around a tree near the compound, "You would say ‘If you think you have to do it-,’ and oh god, I do, ‘you should do it. It’s a brave choice to not give up.’ But hey, Karen, I have a question—if Tony programmed you and you think it’s okay what I’m doing, why doesn’t he think so, too? Why—can you tell me that?"

His voice splinters over the last few words and he rubs his eyes again, stops walking circles like a maniac. There is only so much he can take and right now, he feels like the bucket is full; he’s been kissed, drugged (with words), hugged, rejected twice, he doesn’t know what’s going on with his body, doesn’t know why he likes the things he likes, he’s fucking scared, he’s ashamed and he still told Tony everything, gave him everything. And what’s going to happen now?

There’s another rejection waiting around the corner, and probably that’s exactly what Peter wants? Probably he’s a masochist too, probably he enjoys being hurt by Tony, probably it’s better than nothing.

"I don’t know what I’m going to do without him, Karen," he concludes eventually before he takes a deep, deep breath and nods.

"I can’t stop. I tried. I’m going to embarrass myself, but you know what? I don’t care. Okay, I care. Fuck, I care. I care."

He walks towards the compound, muttering when he notices two things: First, there’s a cool jet (spaceship?) parked near the entrance and second, people are pointing at him from the inside of the compound, what the fuck. Also, ‘people’ means ‘people with guns and very serious faces’ but then it means ‘people with guns gesturing to him to stop’ and finally ‘guns pointed at him in a not so friendly way’.

"Stop! The center is closed. This is private property. You got an ID?" One man calls from the entrance, two others are still pointing their machine guns at him. 

Uh.

"Oh-okay, I stop. I stopped. I’m Peter-," he shouts when the man interrupts him again: "ID? You got an ID?"

Something is wrong. This is wrong. He nods and shows them his badge as his heart stutters, _something’s wrong_. The compound is of course not a public building, there are always a lot of securities around here, but they rarely point their guns into the faces of visitors.

Eventually, the guards gesture him to approach and he does before handing them his ID, looking around as if he’d see Tony only because he looks thoroughly enough.

"Mr. Parker, you can come in," the woman says after checking the ID. He takes it back but doesn’t move.

"What’s wrong? Where’s Tony—I mean, Mr. Stark? Is he alright? Has there been another attack?" His mouth goes dry, but he tries to hide it. Not that it would affect the woman’s face, which is an alarming mix of professionalism and concern.

"We are closed off. Only those with high priority access may enter. You have high priority access. That’s all I can tell you," she points at the elevator and turns away, typing something into her Stark phone. Peter doesn’t hesitate and runs towards the already opening lift doors, fear washing over his head and body like a bucket of ice water.

"Jarvis, what’s going on? Where’s Mr. Stark?"

"You are very welcome, Peter. There has been another attack. And I have a call for you."

_No no no no no no._

The elevator doors close and suddenly there are no doors anymore but a gigantic black display, flashing up with colors and screen errors, and it sounds like fire and people in the background—it’s Tony.

It’s Tony’s face. And he’s alive.

"Oh my god, what is happening, Mr. Stark? They threw their guns at me, okay, and the compound was closed off but I didn’t see any signs of an attack, but there was an attack, right? And you are—you are obviously not here, where are you? You are okay, right, it didn’t hit you? Oh, shit—I’ll come, I just need the suit and I’m on my way, but you have to authorize me again or, uh, I just use the suit I was working on, or, you know, I could just come like that, I guess– I mean, if you tell me where you are?"

He swallows, and he doesn’t know if the elevator even moves, he doesn’t care. And Tony doesn’t answer.

"Mr. Stark? Tony?"

Peter feels like he’s hyperventilating and Tony seems to not breathe at all. He just looks. And yet it’s anything but _just a look_ , it’s the loudest expression anyone ever regarded him with, it’s intimate. Uncompromising.

Then Tony gives him a hint of a smile and nods. Peter is at a loss, but right now he’d do anything the older man wants him to. And he wants him to-

"Stay."

Tony ends the call. When the elevator doors open, Bruce Banner faces him with a similar expression and no matter how many questions there are, Peter doesn’t ask them. He steps forward and hugs the man and they say nothing at all.

***

_Wednesday, 4:41 pm_

They watch FOX News on the couch in the living room when Peter calls May and then Ned, and after that MJ. His aunt nearly makes him cry because she cries too and he promises to call her again in the evening, promises he’ll stay at the compound with Bruce and Tony, but Tony’s still not here. Ned starts with an ‘Oh my god.’ and repeats the words ten times before Peter actually chuckles and wishes he could see him, he wishes they could rewind the last few days and they would sit there inside his apartment and play LEGO, and everything would be fine. 

"How dare you?" It’s MJ who sounds the most scared of them.

"I’m sorry. Look, I already told May and Ned—we don’t think you all are in danger, but we are playing it safe now and there’s a drone coming your way, it’s probably already at your apartment. Let it inside and it will install a device on your wall, inside the bedroom. They targeted both attacks at the bedrooms, and it’s a Stark security system with scanners, also Jarvis can access it. There’s no camera or anything, but it will detect intruders and you know," he stares at the TV screen. "Bombs."

"Stark couldn’t detect the first one."

Peter opens his mouth to breathe and shakes his head even though she can’t see it.

"No. But- but it’s the only thing we can do and," he pauses.

"… and they attacked you because of him? They wouldn’t attack us. It’s a safety measure, but actually, we are not in danger. You are. And Stark. And everyone who is near you two."

"Yeah." Peter throws Bruce a glance, and the man pats his knee, giving him a sympathetic look.

"I don’t get why me though," he mumbles into the phone.

"You watch the news?"

"Of course we do."

"They repeat it over and over, that video of Iron Man? How he’s appearing at the scene ten minutes after the explosion, and he’s not even hesitating before flying directly into your apartment? You still don’t get it?"

"He would have done that for everyone." At least that’s what Peter is saying to himself like a mantra.

"No, I’m sorry, Peter, that’s not true. With anyone else he would’ve tried to put out that blaze beforehand, he would have acted rationally. What you see there is a madman trying to save someone."

What to say to that?

"If they didn’t know how important you are to him, they know now. If they want to get him, they will use this information. They will use you against him."

"I won’t let them." And he knows the only reason she is not objecting to that statement is that she doesn’t want to hurt him. They say goodbye soon after that and Peter hates how everything about the attack is just another reason why he shouldn’t have kissed Tony, why it’s dangerous, and why Tony will tell him to not do it again.

Of course, they have bigger problems than the kiss now, right? He’s an adult and pathetic things like his feelings don’t really compare to bomb attacks and terrorists, and their duty to stop those terrorists or whoever is attacking them from killing more people. 

Three. 

There are three dead people now, besides all those victims in Mexico. Two women and a boy who just happened to live in the same building as Peter, and they paid with their lives for that. Tony could of course save a lot of them, all these familiar faces Peter occasionally greeted at the stairs. The woman who once lent him eggs so he and Ned could bake a death star cake on a very rainy Sunday (it was a disaster). The boy who always played football in the backyard, always alone, never with friends.

But the boy who lived next door? That boy is dead now. Two women and their son, all dead the minute the bomb exploded. Iron man saved the bodies from fire but he couldn’t give them their lives back. No one could.

He knows it’s not his fault.

And yet it feels like it is, and he can’t stop thinking about Tony and his voice and a hug, probably. Or a kiss. He needs him. Not someone but him, because Tony is the only one who would truly understand; because Tony has always been the only one who ever truly understood. Always.

He can’t do that alone. He’s not strong enough.

"Hey." Bruce smiles at him, a hand brushing his arm.

"They said Iron Man just left, he’s probably here in ten minutes."

Bruce looks concerned, and Peter asks himself if it’s so obvious that he’s only waiting for Tony to come home. Maybe it is.

"I’m not going away, but I’m looking up something at the data crux, okay? If you need me, I’ll be there. Is that okay?"

He nods, forcing a smile onto his lips.

"Yeah, actually I should go do something too. There’s that suit I work on and I have to adjust some things to complete it and…" He stands up but trails off when Bruce grabs his shoulder, nodding in his direction.

"Probably just sit down and wait? You look tired."

"… Okay."

Bruce leaves, and Peter sighs, pulling his legs up after sitting down again. Tony will be here in a few minutes, he’ll probably arrive in the workshop but they will eventually meet and why can’t he stop being scared?

***

So tired.

***

_A long moment later._

He’s sensing him before he can turn around to see him. When he does, Tony leans in the doorframe and looks at him, expression unreadable. Peter’s spider senses are going wild again, or what’s it about the adrenaline wave that hits him out of nowhere?

His mouth goes dry, and he wants too many things—things he could say or do, things he’s imagined for years, things his sick mind comes up with just at this precise moment. Of course, he’s not doing any of them, his body shocked into stiffness by the adrenaline and the endorphins and the warmth and the fear and the anticipation and everything else.

"Jarv, stop the recording inside the living room, would ya? And tell us when someone comes this way, lock the doors, and so on." 

"Of course, Sir."

That’s not what Peter expected. He stares, and it’s like his eyes could fall out of his head any second, _oh god the image, please stop thinking, what is going on._

Tony stands upright and closes the door behind him, his eyes never leaving Peter’s, never. He might look like a deer in the headlights, he definitely feels like it and he swallows when the older man starts to move.

Tony is slow but graceful. Composed. Like a hunter, Peter thinks, and there’s something very primal inside him that follows his every step with an exciting wariness, ready to jump. It’s surreal and yet this here feels like something he knew would happen one day, like the kiss.

Probably he’s dreaming. It feels like a dream. After all, he dreamed of similar scenarios countless times. Only there Tony would wear a suit, always a suit or official clothing, making him appear even more authoritative. 

Not that he needs it right now. He wears his pizza day clothes, a worn-out Metallica t-shirt, and sweatpants, and he still dominates the room, it’s ridiculously attractive. Peter stops returning Tony’s look, his eyes observing other things like those arms or thighs and the chest. He remembers the way it felt against his own, but he doesn’t know how those hands would feel against his throat or anywhere on his body. Of course, he wouldn’t dare to imagine things like that, wrong things, weird things, stupid things.

"You finished?"

He looks up. Tony stopped right in front of the couch, hands casually inside his pockets; and _how is he even doing it, because Peter knows he’s doing it on purpose, everything, all the time._

God, he missed him so much.

"Yeah. No." He swallows, a shy smile on his lips before he looks away, shaking his head. "Never."

_Never._

"Is that so?" His voice sounds soft, and maybe Peter’s not proud of it, but there’s something about that low drawl he can’t resist, it’s intoxicating. The couch vibrates a little when Tony sits down next to him and there’s a warm knee touching his leg, that’s how close they are.

"You-… I’m glad you’re here. I’m so goddamn happy you are here, Peter."

He meets Tony’s eyes, and it’s the same look the man gave him in the elevator but more intense because he’s here now, they are in one room now. And it hits Peter that probably Tony really thought he’d be dead.

"I-I’m so sorry, I, I mean-," he starts, but Tony just moves forward and hugs him, deep. It’s everything Peter wanted and he clings to him, shoving his face into the crook of his neck, breathes and it’s like he never breathed before.

"You know you are not the one who should apologize?" Tony whispers, pulling him deeper into his arms until Peter just crawls into his lap again, like last time, only that he doesn’t lose his mind immediately. (That’s a lie, he lost his mind a long time ago.)

"I missed you," Peter thinks out loud and Tony answers _I thought you died in there,_ but he’s not saying it with his voice but with his fingers when he strokes his hair and Peter understands it.

"I’m sorry I scared you." He is, even though he didn’t do it on purpose. He’s just sorry Tony was scared because of him.

"Someone will be very sorry very soon, I promise," is Tony’s answer to that and Peter drowns in his voice. It’s like home.

He loosens his grip around the man and raises his head to face him.

"I thought you wouldn’t let me."

He needs to know.

"Let you?"

"Let us. Do you? Do you now?"

Again, Peter can’t read Tony’s expression. He knits his eyebrows a little, only so much to be visible and then there’s something like a sad smile somewhere but not on his lips. It doesn’t matter because when Tony kisses him, nothing else matters anymore.

It’s a soft kiss. Just a touch to the lips and yet Peter feels his heart shake, his hands, the fingers that clutch the fabric of Tony’s t-shirt over his shoulders. And again, Tony won’t close his eyes, regarding Peter with intent, _intensity,_ and everything they never talked about, like the _how long._

It’s not that Peter really needs to know, right? Still, he _needs_ to know—wants. He couldn’t even name it, but he tries to taste it when he opens his mouth just a little, just a nuance, and Tony looks at him like the hunter he is. Peter thinks

nothing. 

He shuts his eyes, he can’t help it and he imagines Tony’s lips on his face, his hands on his skin, his voice. There’s something very strange about getting something you wanted for so long, it’s like your body doesn’t even know how to respond to it, if it’s good or not good or just too much. He feels insecure if he’s honest. Small.

Tony stops kissing him.

He wants to look at the man and there’s an adrenaline-fuelled throb his heart is broadcasting through his body, it’s fear. Tony could stop doing this. Could say they shouldn’t like he just remembered that in fact, it’s still not a good idea.

Instead, there’s darkness when he opens his eyes. And a hand gently covering them. Tony’s breath on his lips. Another kiss, slowly, so slow—he forgets the darkness and keeps his eyes shut, following Tony into his mouth, a tongue.

And another hand suddenly brushing over his chin, taking hold of it. He stills when the older man leads his movements, making him open his lips more. There’s a yawning void inside his head when wet lips touch him, and he can’t really move (doesn’t want to), can’t really kiss back (doesn’t want to).

Peter doesn’t even moan, but he feels Tony smiling. Is he dreaming or could his spider senses catch a smile?

Not to mention, Peter is hard.

"Hm. How good is your Peter Tingle? You know what I’m doing without looking?" Tony’s voice asks, and he sounds like they would talk about the weather and _not fucking kiss. What the fuck._

"Uh, well, yeah. I could concentrate and—I probably would know, I-I," he draws a breath and if he had the time he’d probably think about his heart beating way too fast and, also, about all the reasons why it’s doing that.

"You?"

_You._

"I-," he starts, but he doesn’t really know what he wants to say, so. What he knows though is that he sweats, and he thinks, _didn’t we kiss_ and _what am I supposed to do._

Then, oh thank fuck, Tony is kissing him again. It’s a kind kiss and Peter melts into it as long as it lasts.

"You took a cab to come here?"

It’s such a random question, Peter just nods without thinking. And here he is, Tony’s breath on his lips, a touch to his cheek. Another kiss. Peter feels drugged again.

"Why did you?"

"Why—the cab, you mean the cab?" He doesn’t open his eyes.

"No. I mean, why did you come here?" 

Peter swallows, suddenly so nervous he wants to bite his fingernails (he broke the habit when he reached the age of fourteen).

"I…," he stops, but Tony doesn’t push him.

What doesn’t change the fact that the answer is complicated. Shouldn’t Tony know why? He couldn’t stay away.

He didn’t feel like following Tony to the compound again, didn’t feel like needing another rejection. And even now, even after the kisses—would Tony really say yes?

What if he won’t? What if it’s a one-time thing?

"I—I couldn’t stay away, so I d-don’t know."

He breathes, and it’s too loud for his ears, his senses reaching out for Tony, observing the darkness for a kiss or a touch, or anything. But there's nothing there. Tony doesn’t kiss him this time. 

The tiny hair on Peter’s skin near his neck stands tall, and he swallows again, always trying to swallow with his dry mouth and throat. Turning his head a little to the left. Facing away even though he still doesn’t open his eyes.

"Do you trust me?"

They are playing something. He didn’t notice until now, but they are. They are playing a game with no name. Peter feels a warm shiver washing over his back, reaching with cold fingertips for his arms. He wants to cross them, but he doesn’t move because he’s too tense. Too excited. Too _thrilled_.

What if he’s doing something wrong? What if he’s doing everything wrong because Tony thinks he knows the rules for this game? He doesn’t.

"Y-yes. I do," he answers honestly because he’d trust Tony with his life.

It’s uncomfortable to be on display like this, to be seen. It’s discomposing. Not in an entirely bad way, Peter has to admit when the blood warms his cheeks and he feels like he could choke on his own breath any second.

He wants to say something, anything, but he doesn’t want to lose the game. Tony moves. It’s not very stealthy, of course, and it isn’t because Tony knows very well that Peter can feel him with his senses. He’s not that blind at all, but he still feels like it.

Then there’s a hand, and it’s warm to his neck when it touches him, soft fingers brushing over his skin like it would break with too much pressure. He trembles a moment because it’s new to be touched like this by Tony, new and soft, and so so satisfying, like Tony could lift all the discomfort of the past moments from his shoulders and replace it with something like awe.

Something he didn’t know existed in this world. And what a cheesy thought, right? But it’s not a lie.

"Do you, now? Think about it. Don’t answer without thinking about it." 

Peter thinks Tony might break the rules to be nice to him, to explain to him something he doesn’t quite understand yet.

Think about it. He tries, but then he’s pushing his neck into Tony’s touch, just a little, and he sighs. Does he trust him? Does he trust him? Does he? The touch moves to his chin, and it’s hot against his face, nice against his cheek, tingly against his bottom lip.

Still, Tony could stop any moment. He could stop and say they shouldn’t and leave him the way he left him in the past.

The way he left him when they stopped going on patrol; the way he left him after they kissed for the first time. Tony is complicated. If he thinks he should leave Peter for his own good, he’d do it, no matter what. 

"I want to," he finally admits, turning his head away from the touch. It’s cold without it.

"But?"

"I don’t wanna say anything stupid."

"You won’t."

"I-I don’t know what to do. Now. I never—I feel like I could do or say something and then you would leave."

_Like he left before._

Suddenly he feels tears welling up inside his throat, but Tony kisses him and he _drowns_ in it; a warm tongue enters his mouth, soft, and it tastes like coffee but not bitter, not sweet, more like coming home after an especially cold winter day, and you take a bath and _drown_. Peter moans, not even kissing Tony back. He just lets him kiss him, opening his mouth more so the man can kiss him more, it’s kind of messy and not how people are supposed to kiss and it’s wonderful.

It’s Tony, how couldn’t it be wonderful.

When Tony stops for a moment, Peter swallows to taste him again. He pushes his crotch against Tony, probably against his stomach because he’s still sitting on his lap, and he comes.

Just like that.

He’s so shocked, he moans not only and cramps his hands into the fabric of Tony’s silky t-shirt; he looks up too and blinks directly into the intense brown that is Tony’s eyes. Likely, they never left Peter for one second.

Now, the look surprised too.

"Fuck," Peter murmurs because _fuck, he just came and Tony knows_ , and he blushes when a hand sneaks between his legs to touch him there but over his clothes. He tries to move away, kind of, but there’s no way he’ll leave Tony’s lap voluntarily. Uh.

"Did you just come?" Oh, there’s someone talking with a _not so hidden_ amused undertone and Peter pouts. 

"Don’t do that," he demands, removing Tony’s hand with his own and then holding him because why not? He can fucking hold him, he’s stronger than Tony after all. 

"No? Why not?" Tony doesn’t grin, but he does internally. Peter knows it. He doesn’t let it show, but he _laughs_. The bastard.

"I wouldn’t call it a quicky. How about a quickest? Needless to say, I’m flattered, honey-"

" _What?_ Oh, come on, that’s not fair!" There’s a smile behind his voice too, but he refuses to show it.

"The quickest Avenger of all time, the-"

"Stop-"

"Quick-Spider, Whirlweb, Daddy fast-legs, I can go on-"

"Look-"

"And on and on, but you don’t right? You don’t go on, you just come, and that rhymes-"

"That’s so mean, you are so mean-"

"That’s not a rhyme, Peter. And oh, me? I’m not mean, probably a little slow compared to you." He lets go of Tony’s wrist and instead covers his mouth with his hand, flashing him a bewildered look, panting.

"I can’t believe you, you are supposed to be _nice_ to me, you—you know why-why my body reacts like that." He looks at Tony who mouths _Erects like that?_ And he grins shamelessly into his hand, it’s disgusting and beautiful and Peter thinks with every minute they are together like that, he’s falling in love even more.

It probably shows on his face.

Tony stops grinning and after a few seconds, he shuts his eyes, shuts him out. It leaves Peter even more confused, his brain not working for at least half an hour now, and he lowers his hand to make Tony tell him, but he doesn’t. Although he squints in his direction with one eye and it looks so _Tony_ , he wants to kiss the man again. When exactly did he stop thinking about everything else but those lips and hands and voice and …?

And while he’s on it, when exactly did they start kissing and stop not kissing?

"You waiting for an invitation letter?"

"Uh." There’s a blank space inside his head. "N-no? I mean, should I—you want me to do something?"

"Ah", Tony grins again and feels for Peter’s arm and his shoulder like he wouldn’t know exactly where the boy is.

"Oh goddamn, what’s that, is it a confused Peter? Did he already forget what we did before I made him come so hard he literally lost every brain cell he had, and he had quite a few, what a shame."

_Come so hard he literally–_

"Oh, my god."

Tony’s probably right, but damn.

"You hard again?"

"No!"

That might be a lie.

"Sad. Let’s start then, sweet boy, shall we? It’s your turn, I’m all yours."

_Sweet boy._

There’s a confident smile plastered on Tony’s lips, but his eyes are closed and that’s the moment it finally dawns on Peter that he’s supposed to play the game again. But with a different distribution of roles.

Is he really?

"Am I supposed to—I can ask you questions now?"

"’Course you can, we are playing, aren’t we?" Tony says easygoing, and he’s so damn self-assured, it’s not fair. If they are going to change the roles, shouldn’t Peter be the confident one, and shouldn’t Tony at least _not_ look like he’s still the game master? Peter doesn’t even know what they are playing.

"Oh, okay. Okay. I can do that. We can do that, I-"

"You have three questions."

"I, what? No, you had more."

"Nope: Cab, why you came, trust."

"What about the ‘Can you sense me with your eyes closed’?" Peter imitates Tony’s voice at that one. "What about—you asked ‘you?’" He does it again. "-in the middle, I’m pretty sure and yeah, okay, I don’t count the questions after I opened my eyes-"

Tony groans.

"Fine. Just stop, you give me a headache. Also, I don’t talk like that, stop imitating me."

"You don’t get to be that bossy, I’m the boss now. Also, you talk like that, little Tony."

"What did you call me?"

Wow, he doesn’t even open his eyes, and he’s suddenly the most imitating human being Peter ever saw, ever. That’s impressive. And sexy.

"I take that back, Mr. Stark."

"Thought so."

Peter kisses him. He can’t not do it, so he doesn’t stand a chance. The man kisses him back, but he’s not leading it, he even follows Peter’s movements and when he opens his lips, Peter can’t help the smile reaching his lips.

"That’s not how we play this at all," Tony whispers into his mouth, and Peter’s smile deepens until he feels Tony do the same. Like before. Like when they first kissed. He wasn’t so sure he’ll ever get the chance to do it again, but here they are.

He could kiss him all day, hell, all week, but he forces himself to part from the kiss. Thing is, they now know each other for six years and he could never really look away from Tony, yet he never had the chance to observe him this close and, well, undisturbed. 

His dark brown hair painted itself grey more and more over the years, now it’s almost more grey than brown. It doesn’t look damp now, but it did when Tony appeared in this room, a thousand years ago. He showered before meeting him, and Peter touches a strand of hair loosely escaping Tony’s forehead. It’s soft, and it smells like styling gel, just a bit. It smells amazing.

(Thank god Peter doesn’t have to actively lean forward and smell at it to get the scent, because that would be weird.)

(He always tries not to be too weird when he’s with Tony, and he mostly doesn’t succeed at that.)

There’s more.

It’s Tony with those incredible wrinkles next to his eyes that only show when he laughs. It’s Tony with his beautiful, long eyelashes and the trademark beard, always trimmed to perfection and scratching Peter’s face when they kiss, and he thinks _what if we kiss long enough to give me a beard burn, I want that._

Then he remembers they are not together, this is not a normal highschool-university-romance with your usual happy ending, they are over twenty years apart and even though Tony definitely likes to kiss him, everything they did? It could be a one-time thing, and Peter couldn’t change anything about it. He wouldn’t even stop, he would fuck damage control at this point and suck in every touch and breath and kiss and word he’ll get from Tony, until the end.

Also, he could ask this exact question.

"Eh," he pauses because Tony said nothing the whole time. He let Peter watch him for five minutes, or more.

"Uh, I’m sorry for—I kind of—I kind of just looked at you and I know that’s weird. I’m sorry."

He’s definitely not good at this game nor at not being weird, but Tony doesn’t seem to mind. He smiles, and it’s genuine.

"Anything you looked at in particular?"

"Uh, not really. I can really ask what I want? Also, that’s not a question."

"Of course it’s not a question. And yes, you can. I don’t have to answer though," he says, and suddenly his hands touch Peter’s hip, grounding him in a way that shouldn’t feel so intense. The boy exhales, feeling just as nervous as before when Tony asked the questions. It isn’t fair.

"Do you trust me?" he finally asks, searching Tony’s face for an answer, and it’s there. It’s in the absence of the masks Tony usually wears.

"Yes. Otherwise, I wouldn’t do this with you. Trust is the most important thing when we do this." But what exactly are they doing? Is this what Peter read about that night he searched for _all these things he wants_ on the internet? He definitely read nothing about asking each other questions, but then BDSM, or whatever it is he wants, cannot be determined that strictly. It’s everything and nothing, but it’s also about playing roles and they kind of did that, right? Still doing it.

Peter swallows. He can’t believe his mouth is dry again.

"What is it we are doing?"

Tony smiles at that.

"I thought we were asking each other questions, sweet boy?" He shivers because of that nickname _,_ but he still manages to touch Tony’s cheek, brushing over it with his thumb. He needs to be smart about this, or Tony will outsmart him.

"That’s not a kiss, you don’t get a kiss for that. You know that’s not what I’m asking. Shouldn’t I know what we are doing so I can trust you? That’s a follow-up question, it doesn’t count."

Tony doesn’t answer immediately. He seems to think about it before he makes an approving face.

"I didn’t get a kiss for the first question, too. Shouldn’t I at least get this one?" he asks and Peter glances at his lips, but he won’t cave so easily. He’s strong.

"You don’t get to make a demand, I’m asking the questions. Also, you are deflecting."

"I don’t. I’ll answer it. But you kiss me first."

"I." Peter stops and kisses him because Tony told him to, and he can’t say no to kissing the man, he’s not that strong. It’s sweet how Tony licks his lips with the tip of his tongue and Peter sighs, contented. He’s unprepared for the upcoming words that all of a sudden pour into his mouth: "You tell me what we are doing, sweet boy, because I don’t know anymore, I planned nothing of it. You think I have all the answers? I have shit; I wish I had them. I could tell you how I love it when you call me Sir or Mr. Stark and I could tell you how I only sleep well when I try to forget that."

A pause.

"I thought I lost you."

"You didn’t," Peter stays near his mouth but doesn’t kiss him. "You can have me all you want, you’ll never lose me if you don’t push me away."

He loved him so long he knows it’s not going away soon. Probably never.

"Next question."

It hurts, and Peter doesn’t understand, he really doesn’t. They kiss and they both like it. Some people will think it’s weird, but who cares? He knows Tony doesn’t care. Not about that.

He wants to ask _why do you always hurt me_ but he doesn’t.

"Is this here and now a one-time thing?"

"Yes."

Peter is a ghost.

"Why would you do that to me?"

"Because I’m not a nice guy. Never been. I’m a narcissist, I’m selfish and self-destructive."

"You can be selfish and self-destructive and nice at the same time. I know someone who is."

Tony opens his eyes at this.

"You don’t know me at all."

"Right. You trying to hurt me now to make me leave? Because that’s what you usually do."

Tony exhales and Peter doesn’t know what he’s saying, but he knows he’s right and he can’t stop now.

"Then hurt me."

"What?"

"You can. I allow you to hurt me." He feels numb but powerful and Tony stares at him and they don’t say anything at all for a sorely long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hands out Christmas cookies to make y'all feel better*


	13. Just Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter eats a grape, among other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR!  
> I hope every one of you is well and healthy. ♡

A sorely long time doesn’t end when Tony leaves the room. It doesn’t end that day, nor does it end the next one. Peter believes he either shocked Tony into submission or disgusted him with what he said; or probably Tony just wants him more now and is too disgusted with himself to act on it.

You never know with Tony. In the end, it even might be a mix of it all because Tony is complicated like that, and the reason Peter knows this is that he can relate. To a certain extent. Sometimes he wishes he wouldn’t because then he could start to hate the man or at least stop to love him. It would be easier. Life with Tony isn’t easy.

Life with Tony who doesn’t talk to you is more than not easy. Life with Tony who talks to you only so that other people won’t notice he actually doesn’t talk to you is hell. Especially when you can’t leave the building because people want to kill you or Tony or preferably both of you.

Hell.

***

_Two days into the sorely long time. Evening._

“What about Star Trek?” he suggests, putting a grape into his mouth. He doesn’t bite yet.

“Next Generation obviously. Bold idea, Pete. Whatcha think, Banner?” Tony looks at Peter a moment and he wants to spit the grape into his face and kiss him. He bites and swallows, taking another three grapes from the package.

“You two go boldly where no man was before, I want to check on the security cameras again,” Bruce calls from the kitchen table, finishing his coffee and standing up.

“Uh, can I come with you? Last night I thought about the blind spots between the camera angles at the bomb attack, and did we actually check them? So I thought I could, you know—or we could—go and check them for evidence and-,” but Tony interrupts him.

“You won’t leave the compound.”

He’s not looking at him this time.

“Yeah, I get that, but we could send Mark 44 or Bob?” Bob is Mark 36, Mark 44 is yet to be named.

Bruce gives him a nod but, of course, there’s worry lingering in his eyes.

“Peter, what’s the last time you did something to relax? Let’s just—how about tomorrow? It’s a solid idea. But for now, Star Trek sounds perfect for you two. Also, I expect a call.” Bruce lowers his voice for the last words, but both Peter and Tony catch it.

“Is it Nat?” Peter asks the same moment as Tony throws in his “Playing Truth or Bare over the phone with Romanoff?” and Bruce gives them a very suffering look, first Tony and then Peter.

“You two are terrible. Tony, you—you are more terrible, but don’t … just don’t follow me. Both of you.” He leaves the room without looking back, and suddenly the grape in Peter’s mouth seems very loud when he chews it.

So naturally, he tries to make it louder by swallowing another grape already at hand. He licks his lips when he turns to Tony who sits on the couch, his Stark pad in his right hand, his eyes back to Peter. Another juicy green fruit meets his mouth, and he opens it, slowly, pushing the grape into it. Not chewing yet, and just for a moment, Peter thinks about something that’s quite unlike any grape or fruit you could put into your mouth.

There’s a space inside his chest, it’s where shame usually dwelled in but it’s gone now, Tony took it with his lips and his words. Now there are no words anymore because they don’t talk.

Peter bites into the grape and he didn’t plan it, but it’s so big, you know. Some juice escapes his mouth, only a few drops. He wants to wipe it away, but he gets lost in brown eyes, their gazes are locked. He can’t break free and move and clean his face, so he decides to never be clean again.

Then he gets too carried away and chokes. His blood shoots into his face and he coughs a few times, a chain of _no no no no no no no no_ running through his head when he covers his mouth with a hand. Never looking away from Tony though, who stands up now, expression unreadable.

_I know you want to come here and eat it out of my face, don’t think I don’t know._

Peter’s not a professional in the discipline of being sexy. And when Tony leaves the room without another glance or word, he thinks, _this is hell_ , but in fact, it’s a sweet hell he wouldn’t exchange for any other place or time.

***

_Just a few minutes later._

“Hell,” the man murmurs back inside his new premises, a converted guest room directly opposite the workshop he occupies since his other place exploded in the fire. He is hard.

“Long day?”

“Nah, long week. But it’s fine. Everything’s fine, hey, how was your trip?” Tony walks to his second workstation inside his room and grabs the screwdriver to push the model a little to the right, just so it could line up with the pattern of the blueprint underneath. Then there’s a hand on his side and he sighs.

“I gotta work-“

“You worked all day.” She smiles and kisses his neck, soft.

“I’m pretty sure you don’t know that for a fact, darling.” The hand presses under his t-shirt, warm fingers caressing the space between the hem of his trousers and his navel. Actually, it’s not warm but hot, and she doesn’t open the button when her small hand crawls all the way down inside Tony’s boxer shorts, touching him where he needs to be touched.

Janice is as sweet as she is intelligent, and Tony always thought she’d be the perfect fit for him, aside from Pepper. He knows she may be in love with him and he tried to love her back for ten years now, but it never passed the ‘friends with BDSM benefits’ line. That’s okay. That’s exactly what he needs right now.

“Thought of me?”

“I thought of you thinking of me,” he lies and pushes into her hand, not thinking of her at all. 

When he later comes inside her, his hand at her throat because she likes it that way and he does too, he doesn’t feel guilty for the first time this week.

***

The next day, they send Bob to find evidence the police might have overlooked and Peter monitors the entire mission. It’s useless. They get nothing but an empty suitcase and a broken Stark phone, both items certainly not related to the bomb attack.

Whoever placed the bomb wasn’t captured on the footage the surrounding security cameras recorded, but Tony could at least prove that the videos were manipulated. Someone overwrote an hour between 12 pm and 1 pm the same day the explosion took place, affected were two cameras not far away from each other.

So they searched for eyewitnesses, but no one saw anything strange and Peter of course wasn’t at home but attended his favorite math course at university. The remains of the bomb smiled a morbid Stark Industries smile, a weapon manufactured over fifteen years ago under the reign of a younger Tony Stark.

Killed by Tony Stark. Peter sometimes asks himself if that is what’s going to happen to him one day.

“There’s just nothing,” he shakes his head, staring at the Stark Industries logo on the holographic bomb Jarvis reconstructed from the remains of the explosion. There isn’t any phrase written on it, but honestly? The logo speaks for itself.

“How can they not leave any traces?”

Bruce sighs and pats Peter on the shoulder.

“I know. Nat checked Jeremy Davis once more, there’s nothing to find there too.”

“But he definitely got a lot of skeletons inside his closet, there _has to_ _be_ a black parade somewhere. He said the same words that were written on the grenade and he lost someone in that town in Afghanistan, I tell you it’s revenge,” Peter says and takes the holographic image in his hand to spin it around.

“Black Parade?”

The boy looks up, nodding.

“Yeah, it’s like, uh, a song. What I wanted to say is he hides something. It’s not a coincidence.” And that’s for goddamn sure.

He stares at the bomb again.

“Bruce?”

“Yes?”

“I just can’t… I can’t get that out of my head”, he walks around the lab, running his fingers through his hair.

“Who’s more intelligent than Tony?”

“The mathematician Terrence Tao is currently the second smartest person in the world if you base your calculation on IQ scores. Mr. Stark scored 50 points more, so—no one, Peter. But of course, not everyone took an IQ test,” Jarvis contributes.

“How likely is it a second Tony Stark who didn’t take an IQ test now wants to kill the real one?” Peter asks the air. “And I know intelligence isn’t only IQ tests, but I don’t think it’s very likely. How could anyone get past your security systems, Jarvis?”

“That’s a question I asked myself a few times, Peter. With no satisfying outcome, I must confess.” Jarvis sounds disappointed at that.

“I know. There’s no memory of someone getting past the systems, no camera footage, no nothing. Jarvis, tell me: How high is the probability that someone gets past your security systems, enters the compound, and places a grenade with no one knowing?”

“The probability of someone without verification getting into my systems and entering the safest place on earth is 0,0000000321%. It is nearly impossible, you might say.” 

Bruce stands next to Peter, sipping his coffee.

“And yet it happened. What if there is a second Tony out there?”

“I don’t wanna meet evil Tony,” Peter thinks out loud, though he isn’t convinced this particular supervillain exists. It just doesn’t feel right. 

They must overlook something.

The only glimmer of hope has been Mrs. Potts, who got Tony off the trial that wanted to prove the reboiled arms trafficking Stark Industries actually didn’t sully his hands in. The name _Stark_ is clear again. Everyone now knows there’s been nothing but false allegations.

Everything else though is unclear. After a second, Bruce nods.

“Me neither.”

Peter swallows before he stifles a yawn, automatically checking the time on his phone.

“Okay. It’s late. You should go to bed now.” Bruce gently pushes him in the door's direction, but Peter turns around before leaving.

“And you?”

It’s only nearly ten pm, okay. Also, Peter doesn’t sleep that well nowadays, what a surprise—he rather stays up as long as he can.

“I didn’t sneak into the workshop yesterday even though the Hulk told me to watch Star Trek, and I definitely didn’t stay up until 4 am.” 

“Tony didn’t watch too.”

It’s true.

“So why didn’t you? Is there something going on between you two?”

The world opens its mouth and swallows Peter, leaving only an empty shell, washed pale from the water.

“What?” he squeaks. If you’d call ‘Pokerface’ out loud, there wouldn’t even be an echo.

Bruce lifts his hands in reassurance.

“Okay. It’s not my business, I know. But- you know, you can talk to me? We don’t see each other that often, I get that, but Tony can be difficult. He means well, but—he’s my friend and he’s, you might say, overprotective when it comes to you. You know, you’re like a son to him. So, if I can be of help, talk to me.”

He gives him an encouraging smile, and it’s fatherly and very, very friendly. So the world opens its mouth again and spits Peter out, he inhales some much-needed air and there’s probably a voice inside his head laughing hysterically, but.

But who cares, right?

“Uh, that’s really nice of you. Really. I appreciate it, but—it’s fine? I think it’s fine and I just don’t sleep so well here, so yeah. Thank you.”

Bruce nods emphatically and Peter nods too and then he leaves the room and just wishes he could tell him or anyone, but he can’t. He’s alone with his broken heart, and he doesn’t care if it sounds cheesy when it’s the truth.

What’s also true is that he didn’t see Tony all day, but when he walks past the workshop, he sees someone that is not Tony.

(Peter certainly didn’t make a detour so he could spider past the workshop.)

(He also didn’t take the elevator to said workshop, which would have been a huge detour.)

(It’s very mysterious how he ended up all the way down here.)

Peter stills.

In fact, he stills in such a sudden way that he nearly falls over his feet, making enough noise to alert said unknown person. It’s a woman.

“Uh, hi?”, he calls and wants to crawl the walls, but of course that would be weird.

“Hi! You’re Peter, right?” The woman immediately approaches him and she’s smiling, so probably— _probably_ —she’s not a terrorist trying to attack Tony and blow up the whole compound.

Probably.

“Yeah, that’s—I mean, do I know you?” He shakes her actually very soft hand; too soft, definitely too soft.

“No, I guess not? I’m so glad to meet you though, Tony talks a lot about you.”

Oh, isn’t that wonderful? She’s blonde, by the way.

“Does he?” Peter asks slowly, looking around, but actually he’s glad Tony doesn’t appear out of a sudden.

“And you-,” he smiles, and it’s fake. “You are?”

“Janice Cord, sorry, I—sorry, I should have said that at the start?” She smiles beautifully and a little dorky, to be honest. It’s sweet and friendly and suddenly Peter feels bad for—yeah, for what? Probably for thinking she could be a threat. And everything else.

His smile softens and this time he can hide the ache that slowly claws at his stomach, feeding on every second he sees her face and knows.

“Peter Parker. Nice to meet you, Janice,” he says. He wants to go now but he can’t go without being sure.

“So you—are you often around here? I don’t want to pry, I just never...” he trails off when she looks away, her smile just a bit sad.

“Not that often. Tony is very busy and I, I guess he didn’t mention me, but that’s okay. We are old friends.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I mean, I think you’ll see me more often now. We decided that I stay for a while and I know about the threat, but I guess here is still the safest place to be right now. Especially for people who are very close to Tony.”

“Cool! I’m glad, I mean—sorry, it’s kind of late, but how about we talk tomorrow? We sometimes eat together, everyone here, and I guess since you are staying-” he trails off again, but Janice nods and smiles, always smiling.

“I’ll be there. I’m so glad to finally meet you, but I guess you wanted to talk to Tony. He’s-“

“Oh, no no no no no, don’t bother, I just wanted to get something from the workshop, but it can wait until tomorrow, really. I’m glad too, I’m happy for you—of course, I don’t mean the threat, that’s totally not something I’m happy about, but… yeah.” Peter swallows. “It’s late. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

She winks when he turns around and there’s something like a smile on his face, it’s even genuine because she’s nice. She’s really nice. And beautiful. Really beautiful.

But that’s it. That’s all he can take. 

***

“Ned, are you on my side and you want to be different, or are you on that side and you want to throw a football at my head?”

“I don’t even know what you mean with that,” his best friend tells him, and clearly he’s not on his side.

“It’s from a song—look, I really need you to do that. Guy in the chair?” He feels a little mad when he connects the suit watch to his laptop, Ned is already invited in.

His best friend sighs a very suffering sigh.

“Last time you told me to hack into the suit, Mr. Stark took it away from you for months. And you nearly died. Several times.”

“What? I saved you! And look, this is different, I know the suit inside out, I even put it together—with a little help, but not much—and I need you to do that, Ned. You are the only one who can hack into this thing,” Peter feels kind of bad for manipulating his friend with compliments, but they aren’t lies. Ned is a genius.

“Isn’t there a reason Mr. Stark overrode your authorization? You want to leave the compound, am I right? You shouldn’t. That’s really not a good idea.”

Peter huffs in frustration before he clicks the video call button on his laptop. Only a few stressed seconds later Ned's face appears. He sits in his pajamas. 

“I crawl the walls, Ned. Look, I can’t stay inside a building for too long and I just—I really just want to swing around a little? I need it to get into the city, I admit that, okay. I want to visit May, I didn’t see her for ages and after that I go back and no one will ever notice I’ve been even away.”

Peter is crawling the walls. He’s currently hanging upside down from the ceiling of his guest room, but of course, the reasons behind all of that are a bit different from what he tells his friend.

“Please? I … I know it sounds stupid, but they won’t attack me on the fly and I need to get out of here for a night or I explode or something.” He jumps down and wipes a hand over his face, he feels like he could cry right here and now and he can’t stand it anymore. There is only so much he can bear and if he could he wouldn’t go just for a night, he would go forever.

Or at least for a long time. Long enough to get back to his past self and throw the Peter he currently is in the trash can.

“Okay. Shit, you look terrible. Okay—but promise you don’t do something even more stupid than … what you are already doing, that is in fact stupid.”

He googled Janice Cord, and even though he felt like an obsessed Stalker doing that, he knows Tony would’ve done the same. Or probably not, because he might not be as interested in him as Peter thought.

God, he’s so dumb.

God, it hurts.

Google’s answers shed a little light into the dark surrounding Janice. Fifteen years ago she appeared as a minor character on the tabloid news, she’s the daughter of Drexel Cord, a business rival of Stark Industries—and probably a huge dick. Jarvis confirmed that little information when he muttered it to himself, probably on the verge of a few pathetic tears.

(Not the thing about Drexel being a dick, though.)

And no: It doesn’t matter if he asks Jarvis about her or the internet or his goddamn dead grandmother, because if Tony wanted to notice any of that he would.

He doesn’t care, really.

What verified the dick-ness of Drexel Cord (apart from the name; who the fuck names someone _Drexel_?) was of course his plan to destroy Iron Man and preferably the man inside the suit so his company could emerge victorious from the yearlong fight between Star Industries and Cord Industries. But that’s nothing the media ever knew about because no less than Janice Cord herself foiled said plan by meeting Tony and telling him about it. That was fifteen years ago, shortly after Afghanistan and the first appearance of Iron Man.

(Peter was eight at that time. _Eight._ )

Jarvis fed him some more information. He was quite talkative when it came to Janice and Peter thinks he must really like her. Jarvis. Tony. Everyone, probably. Even the papers who wrote about Tony Stark’s new flame shortly after Pepper left him—one special magazine even called it a ‘Romeo and Juliet situation’ because; well, you know why they did that. Rivaled families and all that.

So Janice is in fact Tony’s kind-of-girlfriend, and no one knows it. But probably only Peter didn’t know, let’s be honest here. 

“I promise,” he lies to Ned because he knows exactly what he wants to do and it _is_ stupid. But he tried to behave like an adult for years now, he’s allowed to be a kid for one night. Only that being a kid doesn’t have to do anything with what’s going to happen after his best friend hacked the watch.

“Oh god, I’ll regret that,” Ned murmurs, and Peter crawls another wall, feeling restless and desperate and, and— _betrayed_.

But of course, he’s in no fucking position to demand anything from Tony, and you know what? That’s actually the worst part of it. He can’t just knock at his door and tell him what an asshole he is, he can’t accuse him of cheating because they only kissed, and everything that happened between them? Tony probably cheated more on Janice than on him, he probably didn’t want to kiss him because of _her_.

It makes him sick.

He shouldn’t feel that way, he shouldn’t be jealous, he should have never thought Tony would actually want him, or that the kiss actually meant something. He’s such a kid, isn’t he? Naive and young and dumb and he still loves him, he can’t stop loving him.

He never needed a distraction that desperately.

“Done.”

Ned leans back in his chair and wipes away a few drops of invisible sweat, giving Peter a pleading look.

“You can use it, but please don’t. It’s in the middle of the night.“

“Thank you, thank you so much, thank you—I won’t do anything dangerous, and I,“ Peter stops and sighs, shaking his head. He feels terrible and Ned helped him, even though he didn’t want to. He’s a better friend than Peter ever was.

“I lied, I don’t want to go to May, I’m sorry Ned.”

“What do you want to do? Don’t tell me you want to hunt some bad guys or the ones who actually want to kill you.” Ned looks like he’ll hack into the suit again to undo what’s done if Peter gives him a nod. But he shakes his head, crawling slowly on the wall flanking the desk the laptop with Ned’s face sits on.

“No, definitely not. We don’t even know who they are, Ned. No, I want—okay that sounds stupid, but I want to go to a party.”

It’s the truth. Kind of.

“What?”

“I just want to go out.”

“That’s the scariest thing you said to me today. You _never_ go out, Peter.”

Said Peter huffs.

“Yeah, well, I will today. Go out. And I like parties, I enjoy going out-“

Ned still looks at him like he told him he’s the reincarnation of his grandmother who just confirmed that yes, there is an afterlife and it’s basically exactly like in the old movie ‘Chances Are’.

“Are you drunk?”

“What? I don’t drink.”

“Exactly. You are the most boring person I know, you can’t just go out in the middle of the night with no one knowing. People want to _kill you_.”

Peter rubs his face before he lands on his feet and starts to undress.

“Thank you? And I know, but no one will see me. I’m allowed to do that.”

He takes the watch Ned just hacked into and equips it.

“Actually, that’s not true, right? Mr. Stark didn’t allow that or you wouldn’t have asked me to hack the suit. Dude...”

He grabs the clothes he wants to take to the party and puts them on, feeling like a maniac. It’s tight black jeans and a black t-shirt Tony once gave him because he needs _something decent to dress in, kid._

Peter always thought he looked a strange kind of sexy in it, but he never questioned Tony’s decision to give him tight jeans. Now, he doesn’t care either.

“How do you even want to break out of the compound? I bet Mr. Stark won’t let you,” Ned says hopefully and Peter throws him a glance, but he’s right.

Shit. He didn’t think about that. Would Jarvis even let him out?

There’s something like helplessness invading his chest, but he can’t stop now, and he says goodbye to his best friend, promising him to text when he arrives at the party.

The _party_.

Oh god.

***

  
When he steps out of the compound through the front door, everything smells like night and forbidden adventures. There are no birds chirping and the moon hangs still in the sky, watching silently with a round, patronizing face.

Peter realizes he hoped Tony would try to stop him.

It’s stupid, of course. Because no one tried to stop him, literally not one person or AI. Not Jarvis, not the security guards at the front of the compound. Probably Tony never thought about the fact that he could try to _just go away,_ but Peter knows better.

Tony always thinks of everything.

So it’s only a minor surprise when he hears a car approaching, slowly rolling over the asphalt like it tries to be sneaky. It’s kind of cute as far as a car can be cute. Because when Peter doesn’t head for it but goes the other way, ready to suit up, it follows him quietly. He wouldn’t admit it but apart from the flaming anger he feels burning inside his chest, he’d actually like to crawl into the car and kiss Tony stupid.

“What d’you want?” he asks the cold air, the car moving next to him.

“Mr. Stark would like you to take the car, Peter.” That’s not Tony at all. It’s Jarvis. Peter stops and the car door immediately opens, revealing a whole lot of nothing inside: Tony is not here.

Tony is not driving the car, because it’s the beautifully designed self-driving Tin Boy, reflecting the moonlight gracefully.

“Where to?”

“Wherever you want to go, of course.”

He’s not even here.

But he knows about Peter’s plan, he probably even knows about the suit. Maybe he watched all the time, and he decided to…

He decided to let him go.

Peter smiles, and it’s the saddest smile he ever felt on his lips. He hopes it doesn’t look like it feels.

“Do I have a choice?”

“You always have a choice, Peter. But I should let you know that I am instructed to contact Mr. Stark if you refuse to take the car.”

_I never had a choice._

“Fine.” He gets into the car, feeling numb. That’s good because it doesn’t hurt that much when he’s as numb as he is now.

“Jarvis? Do you have Ned's number?”

“I do.” He has a soothing voice and Peter wonders if Mr. Stark is still here, somewhere, making Jarvis sound like that. Then he stops thinking about it because it doesn’t matter anymore.

“Could you please text him? Tell him I don’t use the suit and that I am safe, and that he can go back to sleep now.”

“Of course, Peter. Where may I take you?”

He wanted to go to a BDSM party. He wanted to find someone who can give him what he needs; he wanted to have someone who is not Tony because Tony has someone who is not Peter. He wanted the man to stop him; he wanted to make him jealous; he wanted …

He wanted everything to just go away for a while. 

“I don’t know. Just drive.”

A moment of silence.

“You want me to just drive?”

“Mhm.”

“Of course.” Soothing.

“Thank you, Jarvis.”

He doesn’t buckle up and lays down on the back seat, hiding his face in the hollow where the seat meets the backrest. It’s soft and smells like clean leather but not too intense, just about right. The car begins to move at a steady pace, not too slow but not fast either, carrying him into the night.

He feels him watching when he starts crying. It’s sedating.

***

A drop of time passes in silence.

_***_

It’s a warm touch. Tingling. Like a feather someone drags over the small streak of skin that peeps out under his t-shirt, like fingertips. He feels the warmth pouring inside his stomach, between his legs. It doesn’t stop where his jeans begin but crawls under them, like a hand. Softly moving inside his boxer shorts, meeting the center of his body with determination but then _no no no._

_Yes._

It’s back on his chest, feeling his way over his black top, the one that Tony once bought him. Traveling along the hemline near his collarbone, saying without words _Mine_ , because he is, isn’t he?

Saying, _That’s exactly why I bought it for you._

Saying, _How does it feel to wear it, how does it feel to not decide anymore._

Whispering, _Can you come just thinking about it, or do I have to touch you?_

Peter wakes with a sudden _bang_ and he is alone, at a place that is located anywhere but his bed in the compound. His breathing is ragged when he looks around, and it’s a car. 

It’s the car. He slept inside the car, shit. Before he realizes the hard one, which clearly doesn’t like the tightness of his jeans, he climbs in front of the passenger window and looks out. The car’s inside an enormous garage. It’s Tony’s garage filled with plenty of other automobiles, all shiny and new-looking and beautiful.

“Good morning, Master Peter,” Karen says, but it’s not his watch speaking, it’s the car. Also, Master Peter? That’s a first. What the fuck is going on?

“Karen? What do you—what do you do inside Tony’s car? Oh, shit.” He sits up, his hand pressing against the bulge inside his trousers. _Why am I so hard, oh god, I dreamed about him inside his car, please kill me, please don’t let him know, please._

Problem is—eh, the good thing is that Tony is in fact not here. And probably even he would have the decency to not watch him dream about things like that. Right? Peter doesn’t know what time it is, but he smooths down his hair, just in case.

Just in case Tony pops out of nowhere.

“Language, Master Peter. You are currently not in Mr. Stark’s car. This is your car.”

_What?_

“Did you just—my,” he chokes out the last syllables, gasping, before raking his fingers through his hair again, unconsciously. “You never called me out for my language.”

Ridiculous. That’s ridiculous. Tony can’t give him a car. Tony can’t give him _this car_.

“Didn’t I? There might have been some recent changes to my software. Do you like it?”

“Do I, no? No, I don’t like it. Karen, that’s not my car.” It’s Tony’s car. Peter doesn’t even have a driver’s license. Probably he’s still dreaming? He tries to pinch himself but it just hurts, and anyway—would pinching yourself even work? Did anyone ever wake up by pinching himself? Isn’t it hard enough to dream lucidly?

“The Tin Boy was signed over to you last night. That’s why I am here, Master Peter. I think it’s a nice car. Should I drive you around?”

“ _What?_ “ he squeaks, bumping his head at the car door frame when he stumbles out of a Tin Boy that definitely does not belong to him, no way.

“Oww, shit—That’s insane, I can’t have a car. I can’t drive. I can’t have this car, it looks like I am some sort of- of,” he rubs his head when Karen answers him.

“You should really mind your tongue, Master Peter. Do you want to take driving lessons with me? We can do that.” 

Okay, that’s enough. Tony can’t just throw a car at him only because he is upset or finds out about his girlfriends, that’s all kinds of wrong. And it has nothing to do with getting presents. He knows Tony likes to give people things; he _knows_. And guess what? Peter always loved to be on the receiving end of this, not because he’s a spoiled brat but because he gets that it’s all about Tony showing him friendship. And about controlling him.

Uh, what. Where the fuck did this come from?

And thank god Karen can’t read his mind, she wouldn’t stop reprimanding him for his language; _so funny Tony, thank you._

He stops for a moment. Breathes, and holds his pounding head, slowly shaking it. He doesn’t want it. The car. He’s hurt, and he doesn’t want it this time.

“No, Karen. No, it’s okay. Thank you.”

What he needs right now is space. He’s confused about his relationship with Tony, he’s confused about his feelings and about everything they did, Tony did to him. He liked it, but it’s a lot and he feels like _breaking_ when he thinks about Janice and the fact that it’s stupid and naïve and childish to have these emotions.

It’s Tony goddamn Stark. Of course, he has girlfriends; of course, he wants not only him—or him at all, Peter’s not sure which one of both options. 

He’s not sure of anything right now but the threat. And he might have lost it yesterday, but he won’t today. He needs to hold himself together; he needs to think about the attacks properly. It’s not good if he’s constantly distracted, they both are, all the time. Like they were set up, really. Like someone wants them to be distracted, only that this is bullshit too—it’s entirely their fault.

_Language!_

_Shut up, imaginary Karen._

He groans and heads for the exit, before turning around one more time, “Uh, be … locked, or something?”

“Of course, Master Peter.” The car’s door closes and the lights blink two times, chirping a happy _tchip tchip_.

“I can’t believe it,” he mutters to himself, leaving the garage for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _tchip tchip_  
>  *flies away*


	14. Grounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets grounded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a kinda rough time and a lot of low back pain (yay!) I can finally sit in front of my PC again, and I can finally review/rewrite my chapters as well as post them. Double yay! The sun is coming out (at least where I live) and everything is beautiful and hopeful. ♡   
> Probably also the chapter?
> 
> Have fun!

"The probability of someone without verification getting into Jarvis’ systems…"

Bruce shakes his head and smiles.

"The kid’s a genius."

"Tell me something I don’t know." Tony doesn’t smile. His eyes focus on a familiar face he hoped to never see again after the track ended there. It’s Jeremy Davis, of course.

The video call clicks, followed by an answering, "What do you want, Stark?" It’s not Davis but Fury, his face as grumpy as always.

"What do I want? I want to ask you about the suit you made for Peter Parker. It’s the ugly one that doesn’t fit him right, so please fire your tailors." Tony leans against the worktable and puts a piece of wire into his mouth. Someone might think he’d look like a cowboy.

"Are you seriously calling me because of your parenthood problems, Stark? Get over it and don’t call me again. Agent Hill? What’s it with that bullshit-"

"I don’t have-," Tony looks at Bruce and Bruce looks back at him and Tony grimaces. He might have issues regarding Peter, but honestly, it has nothing to do with parenthood. Bloody hell. 

"Fury, goddamn, lend me an ear, would you?"

"What?" Fury bites back.

At that, Tony raises a black scrap of cloth with a burned edge at one side.

"You know what’s that?" He crosses his arms, wire still inside his mouth.

"Your pincushion?"

"No, my pincushion didn’t burn down, and it’s not black, it’s white and has a nice blue pattern; I’ll show you at our next tailoring lesson. It’s part of Peter’s suit, _ your  _ suit. You know why it’s burned? It’s burned because a bomb crashed into my bedroom, a pleasant story to tell your kids later. Peter tried to help me, so that’s why it’s burned, but you know something else?"

"I guess you’ll enlighten me, Stark."

"You can’t see it—and that’s not a joke about blind people—" Fury’s eye does twitch at that. "But it’s there, it’s a transmitter inside the fabric. Long story short: It sent a jamming signal that gave Jarvis a slap in the face, alright? It interfered with my systems and we are now 89,9 percent sure that that’s how someone placed the bomb inside my room without my systems knowing. Funny, right?"

Fury frowns a moment but doesn’t try to end the call again.

"I thought your precious systems are infallible, Stark? Now you tell me a tiny transmitter someone smuggled in can crash them? Hilarious." But he doesn’t laugh.

Tony shakes his head and takes the wire out of his mouth.

"That’s it. It can’t. It can’t as long as it’s not something Jarvis thought would be harmless. Peter is harmless. He has access to everything. Jarvis doesn’t constantly check up on him, he’s a priority visitor like every Avenger. He thought the signal would be harmless. But oh, surprise, it wasn’t." He steps forward.

"I won’t ask you if you did it because we both know you didn’t do it. In fact, we already know who did it—you got a mole right under your nose, Captain Hook. Edit your Facebook status with Jeremy Davis."

"Agent Davis is-"

"-retired, I know. When was it again? When did he retire? Was it after he patched that black suit together? Oh yes, it was. Damn, that’s such a surprise, I’m shocked. We had quite a hard time to trace him back to you, so good job on that."

Fury rolls his eye, but he looks concerned when he barks an order to Agent Hill to look up Jeremy Davis.

"You sure, Stark?"

"As sure as a guide dog." He puts the wire back into his mouth.

"I don’t give a shit about guide dogs, but don’t call me Captain Hook ever again, okay? I take that personally and you don’t want me to take things personally."

Tony shrugs.

"If you’re right, we’ll get the man. You know why he did it?"

"He might be part of an organisation that wants to kill me. Or worse."

"Or worse? What’s worse than killing?"

"Killing everyone else and letting me watch it."

_ Killing Peter and letting me watch it. _

Bruce sighs after Tony ended the call, crossing his arms.

"At least we have a lead. Thanks to Peter."

But Tony only looks up for a moment. He feels like he’d aged several years in the last few seconds. 

"I wish we had more. And I wish it wasn’t thanks to Peter."

_ I wish he wasn’t here; I wish he wasn’t the one that’s in danger. _

When he leaves the room, Bruce doesn’t follow but calls an old friend. They need a helping hand. If Tony wants it or not.

***

Peter is nervous.

His body feels tense, like it’s flooded with unwanted energy; he wants to crawl the walls again. Or he wants to stop listening to that guard breathing outside the workshop, stop listening to  _ her _ breath—because she’s there, doing something inside the kitchen on the upper floor. His senses are playing Keep Away again, throwing the ball so high he could never catch it. But he feels it; he feels it flying higher and higher, and everything gets louder and louder.

Peter gets quieter. And above all he’s angry, of course.

Angry at himself because he thought it was a good idea to kiss Tony. Because he thought there is something _.  _ And there might be something; it’s not like Peter suddenly forgot everything that happened between them, no. But it isn’t the something Peter wants, and maybe Tony knew he couldn’t give him what he wanted. Or some bullshit like that.

He’s angry at Tony too. Because of that damn car, because of how he feels right now. He’s angry that Tony can’t let him go, that he can’t let Tony go. He’s angry at his stupid feelings, and he’s angry at them both for acting childish all the time. They are in danger and Peter can’t think straight because he’s too hurt.

They need to stop doing what they are doing right now. They need to concentrate. Right? It’s the right thing to do, it’s the adult thing to do. He just needs to stop feeling anything, or at least gain the ability to pretend he feels nothing. Easy. Ha.

In the end, it’s not such a poor plan.

And it’s the only plan Peter could wrap his brain around in the two hours after he woke up inside the car. He wouldn’t know what to do, so he dragged himself inside the workshop to get distracted, but it didn’t work out (uh, surprise). What’s funny too is  _ a) _ he’s super sleep-deprived right now and  _ b) _ he doesn’t even have to look for Tony to tell him about his plan. He’s right here, just about to enter the room. Peter listened to his steps for several minutes now and believe it or not, it even calmed him.

Stupid.

The door clicks. More steps.

Peter doesn’t look up, it’s not like he has to. He can feel people with his eyes closed, but whenever his senses are on overdrive, he only wants to shut out as much as he can. Peter even smells him. Could he stop breathing for a minute or two? Worth a try. It’s Tonys aftershave, but underneath he can smell more—he can taste Tony in the air, but he shouldn’t, he doesn’t want to.

Peter is at his workstation with his back to the door, the holographic version of the latest Iron Spider armour in front of him. He didn’t work at it, it’s just there, a pretense not only for him but for Tony to let him be. To not go or speak to him. Admittedly, Peter wanted to speak to him, but he’s too much of a coward now, and he’s tired. He feels wounded, and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to keep himself afloat in Tony’s massive shadow one more second today.

Of course, none of that matters anymore when the scent gets too intense, when Tony stops right behind him. And Peter just knows he didn’t accidentally bump into him. So what does he want? Talk about the car? About him trying to get away? About the case? About the people who want to kill them? About the girl? Oh god, not about…

A hand.

Touching his hip. Gently.

Not moving at all, just being there. And Peter shuts his eyes, every single one of his senses zooming in on that one touch. His body disappears into numbness with only the region on his hip still existing. He feels it, but he tastes it too, smells it, hears it, sees it through his closed eyes. It’s nice, and there’s a fascinating question to ask later: Is Tony aware of the way he can anchor him? Like magic.

He waits for Tony to say something.

But neither of them says anything.

Their shared breathing pours into the room, filling it wholly. Peter gives in to the silence. He eases his shoulders—just a bit—and he feels his muscles slacken. There’s quietness beyond the loud fingers taking hold of him, of the black t-shirt Tony once bought him.

If you asked Peter, he’d say it’s the perfect moment. 

Perfect in proving everything wrong, everything he thought about only seconds ago. And even more perfect when there’s another touch, Tony’s head leaning against his neck, his breath peaceful and sad.

Because breath can be as sad as a touch can be loud. 

Then Tony speaks.

"I wanted you to lead a normal life." He sounds sad too. Peter doesn’t know what to say to that, but he feels the same.

"Are you kidding me? I’m Spider-Man," he says quietly. It’s too true to be amusing, because at one or two points in his life Peter wanted that too. A normal life. It’s impossible, though.

"That doesn’t have to define you," Tony responds into his neck. He shivers a moment, and he’s so sensitive. He can’t really stop it. 

"But it does. And you are the only one who understands it."

For a moment, Tony keeps silent. But Peter knows he’s right, and Tony knows it too.

"I don’t want to be your only one."

But he is, he is, he is. He was never not. Peter swallows.

"Funny. I always wanted to be your only one."

A pause.

"Always is a long time, Peter."

A fucking long time, Peter corrects the man silently, "You think I don’t know." 

"I think you don’t know a lot of things."

Phew. Really? There’s a stubborn urge biting its way into Peter’s stomach and he inhales audibly, "At least I know what I want." The anger is back, and it’s not exactly hidden in his voice.

A thumb brushes over his hipbone. Like Tony wants to calm him. It’s not working, okay. 

(It is.)

"Oh, I know what I want. I just don’t think that’s always relevant."

"It’s relevant to me," Peter thinks out loud and the words are broken because his eyes burn, because he can’t hide anything at any time, especially not from Tony.

"You can’t stop, huh? You just can’t stop, no matter how hard you try. No matter how much you want to stop, no matter how often you say to yourself you need to stop so it doesn’t hurt anymore," Tony’s voice is hypnotic, and Peter seems to be completely at the mercy of those hands that grab him softly, turn him around and those lips that don’t kiss him.

Peter looks up, Tony continues: "You keep going like you were made for it, and you don’t know how hard I tried. I tried, Peter. I tried. I don’t want this life for you. You’ll look back and you’ll hate me, and it doesn’t have to be like that. I don’t want you to hate me, okay? I don’t need that in my life."

Peter wants to breathe but can’t.

"I don’t think I can hate you. Like, I’m—physically incapable of ha-hating you, Mr. Stark. "

"You-," Tony pauses. He seems to have no idea what to say to that, and Peter finally inhales some much needed air, his fingers brushing over his eyes. He isn’t crying, but he’s pretty sure his eyes are red.

"I’m sorry. I know I can’t leave the compound now, I just needed…" He shakes his head because he doesn’t know how to describe his utter urge to run away, to be away for just a few hours. He still wants to go. Because that girl is here, and Peter has no idea how she’s connected to Tony, if they are together, and he feels like he can’t bear it right now? He’s already trapped with Tony, he won’t be able to take it when he’s trapped with Tony and his girlfriend-whatever.

"Yeah, guess I should say I’m sorry about something too—"

"—you don’t have to—"

"Nah, stop, that’s important now, I’m only saying it once: I’m sorry. I know you met Janice. I know what you thought and you are not completely wrong. We are not together though, never were, and I didn’t intend you to meet her like that—," but Peter interrupts him, thinking about the _ ‘you are not completely wrong’, _ skin and head burning.

"No shit."

Tony doesn’t look amused.

"Oh wow, really? I’ll let that go, because I get it, but I’ve never hidden anything from you—"

"Yea-yeah-yeah, okay, ok, no, please," Peter knows exactly what Tony wants to say—or so he thinks—and he doesn’t want to hear it, stepping away from the man. "Let’s—let’s not talk about it, I get it too, okay, and your right and I’m wrong and that’s fine with me." 

Of course, everything’s far from fine, which is why it’s not a significant loss when Tony stops him by covering his mouth with his hand.

"Could you stop being a teenager for one second, please? Jesus", is the nice thing Tony says to him and Peter rolls his eyes but doesn’t bite him, which would be a lot more satisfying. And maybe childish. Yes, he gets it.

Except he gets nothing. And all of a sudden his heart beats too fast.

"Oh, that’s better. I like you not being able to talk, that’s really nice, should try that out again another time." Peter does mouth a _ fuck you _ at that but it’s affectionate and he’s now really, really nervous, like hyperventilating-nervous. Tony should have left it at that, he should have told him he’s all lovey-dovey with that girl. It would have been okay.

It would’ve been absolutely disastrous and heart-crushingly devastating. Why would Tony not leave it at that?

"Charming. Yeah, that’s on me. I should have started the other way around, why didn’t I? Let me see. I’m not doing anything anymore with Janice. I did, and that’s the difference because it’s in the past—not in the past far, far away, I admit that," he pauses a moment, looking horrified, "That was a Star Wars reference. I honestly hate myself right now."

Peter could faint, but he smiles instead. It’s good Tony can’t see it because it might have been a little maniac, and … and … Tony does smile back, just a little. He did it on purpose.

"Second, I won’t tolerate you being that upset, alright? I can’t see your face like that, look at you, it’s making me all cheesy and next I want to apologise, and I rarely do that. I can’t concentrate, I can’t work, I can’t stop thinking about you..." he pauses again but not at all like he tripped over his tongue, oh no. His eyes are too soft for that, and Peter knows he said every word with intent. Oh god.

It’s not possible. Tony can’t be serious. This can’t be happening. It’s surreal.

"Third."

Tony sighs. Oh.

"We will talk about the downsides and you are going to think about it for at least 24 hours after that. Really think about it. You got me? I know you think you are sure as hell, but guess what, you are probably not. You don’t know what it means when we try—and I mean ‘try’—this kind of relationship and I don’t want to hear you do. Because you don’t."

He waits, but he doesn’t take his hand away, and after a few seconds Peter nods. His body is numb, and he’s still not one hundred percent sure he’s not dreaming, but. 

But he understands this is important for Tony. For them. _ Them _ .

"I want you to consider the possibility that we can’t go back after a while. Now, we still can. We can go back. You can have a normal life. You can have a crazy life with someone else. Someone who is better, nicer, younger—probably not more intelligent or good-looking, but that’s not what it’s about, right? Not really. We can be friends. It wouldn’t be a goodbye, far from that. So—one word, Peter. Now or in the next 24 hours, or whenever you want. I won’t be mad. Never will be."

The warm hand above his mouth disappears, and he licks his lips, heart pounding like a drum in hell.

"You really want to try?" is the first thing he croaks out, because he’ll say yes no matter the downsides, no matter the risk, no matter. He can’t say no, it’s simple as that. But he needs to be sure Tony is reality right now.

And he might be, because there’s a smile inside his eyes.

"I really want to," he says quietly. If Peter didn’t know for a fact that Tony Stark is the embodiment of non-nervousness, he’d think Tony might be nervous right now.

"Oh, my god."

"But you heard me, right? You didn’t only get that from my speech, because it was an excellent speech, oh what I’m saying, it was a A+ speech with a little star next to it. You got the part about the downsides?"

"I think about it as long as you want me to and then I’m gonna say yes," Peter replies without so much as a bat of an eyelid. And he means every word. He never meant anything as much as this.

Peter can’t get his head around the fact that things will change now and he’s too warm, too happy, too- 

He stifles a sudden yawn; tired, yeah, he’s tired too.

"You don’t even know all the downsides." Tony draws nearer at that, his hand coming back to his hip, holding him. It’s firm, and it reminds him of his senses still lurking in overdrive-mode, sending sparks through his stomach, legs and arms. There’s a part of him that wants to play and escape the touch, wants to run away and be caught again.

"Y-yeah, I know."

"You’re still saying yes." Another step right into his comfort zone and it’s the kind of intimidating that makes Peter back off a little, even after all. Especially after all.

"Yeah. I mean—" Peter didn’t notice the shift in the atmosphere until now, his mouth running dry. And he’s definitely not in prime condition, he’s tired, over-sensitive, and still busy with what just happened.

Tony must know.

"That’s not very considered, right? Not very adult. You remember the last time you didn’t behave like an adult?"  _ Behave _ . The word lingers in Peter’s head like a menhir and he opens his mouth, unready to speak.

"Well?"

"N-no, I mean, yes, I do, I-I, you mean yesterday," he stumbles over his words and Tony follows him again when he takes another step back, he didn’t even notice he’s doing it. "Look—"

"Oh, I’m looking."

The boy swallows, clawing a clammy hand into his t-shirt—still the t-shirt Tony gave him a long time ago. He probably should have showered or something.

"You apologised, and that’s all nice and shiny. But I don’t think that’s enough."

It’s not enough. Peter can’t think, there’s a dead end inside his brain and Tony just reached it with ease. 

"Oh."

"What are we gonna do about it?"

Uh. Sex? That’s honestly the only thing Peter comes up with right now, and he thinks it’s not the right answer. So he says nothing, but he stops retreating and Tony reaches out to him, putting both hands on his hips, keeping him in place. That’s nice. And scary. And the most exciting and funny feeling Peter felt for … he probably felt nothing like that before.

"You want me to tell you what you are going to do?"

Let’s be realistic, it might not be sex. Peter catches his breath and really tries to think, but it’s an impossible endeavor. Eventually he nods.

"We will stop right here, right now. And you are going to your room because you are grounded for the day."

Peter stares.

And stares.

And he finally catches up with what’s been said, gaping: "What?"

That’s a joke. He’s 21. Tony can’t ground him. Won’t. That’s ridiculous. It must be a joke, right?

"Not funny," he thinks out loud. Tony doesn’t look like he’s joking. The bastard.

"You see me laughing?" He’s serious, and he didn’t even kiss him or something, it’s not fair. They didn’t kiss for ages.

"You can’t do that." Peter is pretty sure it’s against rights. Or rules. Their rules. They don’t even have rules. If they had rules Peter would not allow Tony to  _ ground _ him, it’s ridiculous. "I don’t want to."

Peter always hated to be grounded, nervous energy and all that.

"You don’t have to go to bed before eight," Tony tells him unwaveringly and moves one of his hands above his stomach and higher, higher; up to his chest. Peter melts under the touch, his tired eyes almost closing by themselves. Unfair.

"Eight? Are you out of your mind," he tries, but Tony interrupts him.

"Seven."

" _ What _ ?! C-come on, that’s, that’s—" a warm finger wanders along his throat, he shivers, yielding. There’s something like an invisible blanket covering his shoulders, his head, his body. It’s too soft to resist, and he closes the distance between him and Tony, leaning against him, not wanting to be grounded but feeling just too weak.

"Six. You look nice like that." The older man brushes over his t-shirt to underline his words.  _ Six _ .

"I can’t sleep at six." Peter doesn’t even know if they are playing or not, but he imagines there’s a reason behind this kind of punishment, and he doesn’t like it even when he does. It’s strange.

Then a hand closes around his throat, soft, and a wave of sunshine and butterflies crashes into him. He feels high and stupid and thinks, probably, it’s not so bad at all.

"How about five?" Tony’s voice is kind and Peter’s doesn’t complain again.

"No working. No homework. No leaving your room. Reading is allowed. Watching some show or film, sleeping, doing nice things. You know how to do nice things, right?"

"Like thinking of you?" He couldn’t hold it back and he looks up and smiles sweetly, losing himself in those brown, intense eyes.

"That’s definitely allowed." Peter’s skin tingles when Tony stops holding his throat and touches his chin instead, a thumb on his lips. Peter places a kiss on the fingertip before Tony bends down and kisses—his cheek.

"It’s too easy to convince you," he whispers, hot breath against his skin.

"’M sorry."

"It’s beautiful." 

Peter can’t form words for a second. "D-do you come with me?" he asks then, because it might be impossible to be inside his room without Tony, or, you know, to be anywhere without Tony.

A sigh. 

"No. We have a lead thanks to you. Davis isn’t the good luck bear he wanted us to believe, surprise surprise. You call me if you can’t sleep. When do you have to sleep?"

"I-, uh, five. What- what do you mean, thanks to me?"

"You told Bruce you don’t believe in evil me trying to rule the world. Which left us with the one possibility it’s coming from the inside."

Peter swallows, "The inside?" 

"SHIELD. Long story, Happy and Bruce are already working on it. And you know, I’m thinking ... shouldn’t you be in bed right now, being a good boy?"

There are goose bumps on Peter’s arms, but he doesn’t want to go. "I have to be in bed at five, Mr. Stark told me."

"No shit, Spider-Boy." Tony lets go of him, only leaving a hand on his back, leading him firmly in the door's direction.

"Language, Mr. Stark. And it’s Spider-Man." He smirks, savouring the half amused and half appalled look on Tony’s face. God, he shouldn’t love the man as much as he does right now. It’s probably unhealthy.

"Four."

"What does this even mean—oh, c-come on, that’s, I’m joking, okay, that’s against the law, I’m pretty sure, dude—"

"What did you call me?"


End file.
